Until It Sleeps
by Metalmark
Summary: Because sometimes people come back from the dead with a vengeance. Claire just didn't expect it to be HIM pulling the strings this time around — nor imprisoned by that said person, but as they say misery loves company. /Post-RE5./
1. Chapter 1

**Special Blabber: **Now I couldn't call myself a Claire/Steve fan if I didn't write a story where Steve returns as a tyrant now could I? The idea might be overused but I plan on adding something entirely different to this story – a very dark and emotional theme. The events of this story take place a few days after the Resident Evil 5 game – be warn of spoilers for the RE 5 game, and others.

This story might end up being a _trilogy_. I'm not sure yet. At the moment I do have the prequel idea in my head and am working on it but that one is going to take a bit longer to write. Because of all the details. At the end of this story I'll see how I and you readers feel about a possible sequel. Carrying on...

* * *

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter One: The God That Failed

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"_Haven't you heard? Wesker is dead."_

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Sherry Birkin stared at the lone black pair of sunglasses; they were _his_ sunglasses – or a copy of his; he had several due to the fact sometimes they were broken in a fight or cracked. She felt no satisfaction upon staring at them. Shouldn't she be pleased? Wesker was dead. _Dead_. She was to be no longer _imprisoned_ her along with _him_. But Albert Wesker was in every sense like her uncle; he was a close friend of her father's. Sure, she hadn't been close to her father but he was still her father, and she respected his choice of friends. She remembered a couple of times when she was a child that she had met Wesker with her father and the times he came in place of her parents to a parent conference. Despite Wesker kidnapping her (if you can call it that seeing as he was her guardian), he had taken the upmost care of her especially since she had been in every way abandoned.

'I never did see Claire again,' The blonde thought slightly bitter.

The auburn nineteen year old girl, Claire Redfield, who had stumbled across twelve year old Sherry in Raccoon City during the outbreak and taking it upon herself to watch over Sherry. In that moment, at that time, Claire had been very much like a second mother to Sherry – or better yet older sister; no one could ever compare to Sherry's mother; her mother had sacrificed herself after all for her.

At times it was all too easy to remember the memory. The crisp air around them as Claire, Sherry, and Leon walked along the railroad tracks after facing the mutated William Birkin. The sun was beginning to rise in the sky, coming out of the horizon shinning brightly. Claire's pink vest was snug against Sherry's body serving as a protective charm almost. Claire had made her choice hadn't she? From the very beginning she was going to go only after Chris; she didn't make it a secret. So why did it disappoint and hurt Sherry so much? Because at the time she had been a little girl who had been abandoned; lost and alone in cruel, harsh reality.

She was no longer that little girl now. She was now in her early twenties; no longer scared, no longer hiding behind someone – no, Sherry grew up to be the very person she had wanted to be – strong, dependable, and courageous just like the person who disappointed her the most: Claire Redfield.

Suddenly the sound of a deep male voice broke her trance. "Fucking hell."

Sherry pressed her lips and brushed a few loose strands of her golden blonde hair. Her hair had grown out a bit longer now; she had it to her shoulders and it was layered to give off more volume. Her face was no longer childlike but was taking on a maturing beauty; perfectly oval shaped face, pink full lips, big blue almond shaped eyes. Her body was also more developed now – still petite but with nice womanly curves that weren't overbearing.

"Steve…," She sighed almost in a chiding tone. He really did have such a big mouth.

Of course, he wasn't taking the news very well either…

Steve Burnside entered the room which was more or less their "living room." The two were residing in Wesker's hidden base in Venezuela that he had kept them all there for the whole time. It hadn't been discovered yet luckily. Most of the rooms were decorated to resemble as much as a normal house as it could – for their benefit she assumed. The walls were still gray and cold…

"This is ridiculous. That asshole got himself _killed_? What the hell happens to us now?" He grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing down.

Sherry found herself staring at his eyes. She had been told that his eyes had been gray in his previous life before Wesker had retrieved his dead body and experimented on him – bringing him back to life as a super tyrant like himself. He had been cryogenically frozen for almost seven years before he awoke from his comatose state – his virus infected body fully developed. His eyes now were an exotic light red color; like cat eyes almost. There was a golden ring around the pupil of his eyes she had noticed one day when she was very close to him. They were the same eyes like Wesker's and looking upon them made her sadly nostalgic.

"I don't know. I guess we're free to go." Sherry mumbled in response.

Steve scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was much older now – nearing his late twenties. His messy red hair was the same; it was cropped short to his neck. It had been longer at a time but Wesker had insisted that he get it cut; something about looking like a raggedy dog (the comment was enough to piss Steve off). His face was more defined having lost all of its boyish shaping from when he had died; he had strong cheekbones, a well defined jaw line, and nose, bristles of facial hair showing on his face (he hadn't shaved in a couple of days), and his skin was slightly tanned from being outside training. '_And let's not forget the muscles,' _Sherry thought amused. His arms were well fit and muscled along with his chest (for she had seen him shirtless before). She guessed it was a tyrant thing; strength and appearance of it.

"He died and left us. Son of a bitch." Steve cursed under his breath.

Sherry shook her head and stood up walking over to him. She hesitantly placed her hand on his shoulder trying to comfort him. She knew Steve had been left behind too; his parents were dead and now his only kind of father figure was dead too. He had hated Wesker in the very beginning but the wounds of realizing he was alone without any memory made him break down. His name was a figment of another person. He was a _monster_ – and Wesker had been the same thing he was now; a connection was bound to form. Sherry hadn't really fit into that mix but she was the daughter of William Birkin, Albert Wesker's partner, and she was immune to the virus seeing as in her body lay the virus her father had infected her with but was dormant. She had also forged a connection with Steve – they both had no family left; not to mention the fact that they had a connection with Claire despite Steve not remembering anything that happened in his previous life.

"It's alright," she cooed.

Steve glowered at her and shoved her hand off his shoulder although he was very careful not to hurt her. The red haired male proceeded then to head to the computer and look into the database journal Wesker had left. He had been doing experiments in this very base. His horrific creations still _lived_.

"Steve, what are you doing?" Sherry inquired raising a quizzical brow.

Steve didn't say anything for a few minutes as he clacked away on the computer, his light eyes scanning the screen.

Sherry rolled her eyes and huffed, angry at the fact that she was being ignored. She turned away and sat herself on the nearby chair grabbing a book to read. Her lips were pressed together. The sound of clacking from the computer was still heard; it was annoying. Right when she was about to say something about it the sound of the door swishing open was heard. A male around his late thirties entered. He had black hair that was sleeked back and brown eyes that were hidden behind the oval rounded glasses he had. If he had done something different with his hair and gotten rid of the glasses he probably would look handsome.

"Dr. Langdon." Sherry greeted standing up.

The older male smiled briefly at her and glanced over at Steve who was angrily muttering things under his breath. Sherry shook her head in response to the scientist's questioning look. Vincent Langdon was someone hired by Wesker for his extensive knowledge in cell and molecular biology as well as viruses; he had doctrines in both. The things Wesker was creating should have scared anyone into running and telling but Langon didn't – the pay offered was too much to pass and greed was a normal thing; morals forgotten easily.

"I'm surprised you two still are here. Haven't you heard? Wesker is dead."

"We know." Sherry replied dryly.

Langdon nodded, "I merely came back for a couple of my things."

Sherry paused before daring to ask, "Who…killed him?"

The other scientists (whom all had ran off soon after finding out Wesker was dead) had gossiped about his death around them but there were never any specifics.

"Someone of the BSAA; A Chris Redfield I believe."

Sherry froze upon hearing the last name. She quickly glanced at Steve as if to expect a reaction from him. He had stopped and stood up from his seat. When he turned around something about his expression was dark and unreadable.

"So _he's_ the one that killed Wesker? A human?" Steve grimaced. He, of course, didn't recognize the last name. He didn't remember anything past him being resurrected by Albert Wesker. He strangely though felt something odd stir in the bottom of his stomach upon hearing the name. He didn't know the man though. Steve shrugged the thought away deciding it was nothing. He had other things to worry about.

Langdon nodded and then headed off to the cabinet grabbing a box with his things. He glanced over at the two almost reluctant to leave them. The two had no where to go but he wasn't about to take on responsibilities; he only fended for himself.

"Take care you two." He commented before taking his leave.

Sherry watched him leave and it felt like someone else was leaving their little home. They had been around Langdon for years now and to see him leave was as confirming the obvious: it was over.

"It's not over." Steve said as if he had heard her thoughts; his voice assertive.

Sherry looked up at him questioning. "And just what are you planning to do? Continue his work?"

She was being sarcastic in her response but Steve took her serious.

"Yep." He replied back. He then looked at her serious. "You don't have to stay though."

Sherry pursed her lips contemplating. She should be running far, far away from this dreaded place. She didn't promise Wesker her forever obedience or anything. She was neutral – for the most part. She blinked her rather doe like eyes and then decided.

"I'm staying." _With you,_ she added to herself mentally.

It had always been the three of them together she felt as long as she could remember (more than six years with Wesker alone and about two years with her, Wesker and Steve) and even with one gone there was still the two of them; they had to stick together. Plus she would never admit it out loud but she didn't hate Steve Burnside.

Steve shrugged his broad shoulders, "Suit yourself. I'm going to my room."

Sherry allowed him to leave. She knew he needed his time alone to think just as much as she did. She thought back to those parent conference days as a child where she had rebelled silently but intelligently in her work – no one seemed to understand her especially not her teachers. But _he_ did; he saw her rebels and pointed them out point blank. She remembered once he had said she was just like her father and she had grimaced at the comment. She didn't _want_ to be like her father but the comment did interest her by the way it seemed to have amused him; his lips had twitched upwards when he had said it - she just about had the image memorized in her head. She realized then that she really never had hated Albert Wesker. No, dare she say she had _cared_ about him. The reality of it made her want to cry – and now he was dead just like her parents leaving her feeling like there was an abyss in her heart.

* * *

Steve Burnside was just a name. There were no memories attached. The name shouldn't even belong to him – an empty shell. He felt like just a nameless monster most of the time. All he knew was that he had been killed and was revived by Albert Wesker with combining virus into his body that already had in it the T-Veronica virus. It still didn't make any sense to him. He hated science though so that probably didn't help. The male shut himself in his room wanting nothing more to sit around in peace – and _brood_ as Sherry liked to call it.

_Stupid know-it-all woman, _he thought irritated.

It wasn't that he hated Sherry, she was pretty much family to him seeing as they had been together for two years now but he was extremely frustrated and irritated at the moment, and that was an understatement.

Albert Wesker was dead. The super strong tyrant that had brought Steve back was dead. Period.

_So much for his super strength_, he thought sarcastically.

His life had surrounded around the older blond male tyrant and now that he was gone it felt as if there was a void. What the hell was he supposed to do with his life now? Everything about his life revolved around Wesker, the creations, and the multiple virus – _oh yeah, and Sherry_, he added reluctantly.

He found himself hating that name - Chris Redfield: the man who killed Wesker.

It was a pathetic way to die Steve thought; by a weak human.

He wanted vengeance. Those _damn_ humans messed up his life (first by killing him he thought and then by killing Wesker) and he was going to make sure to return the favor.

"Damn…" Steve grumbled falling onto his bed and glowering at the walls.

Stupid Wesker, stupid humans, stupid _life_…

He hated it all.

* * *

Claire Redfield hated flying by plane – helicopter, whatever. The auburn haired woman sighed and looked absently out the window. She could see the light blue sky with its thick, fluffy white clouds. As a child she had always wondered what it would feel like to touch the clouds. Now that she was much older (in her late twenties approaching thirties) she no longer contained such childish desires; it made her nostalgic thinking upon it, however.

"Are you alright?" Her male companion asked concerned. He is a little younger than her; his face showed it. He has short cropped brown hair and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds; strong cheekbones, tanned skin, broad shoulders, but there is a hint of boyishness in his face. He would be handsome to any other girl but Claire didn't notice things like that. She is all too busy with her "boyfriend" – meaning her line of work. Her dedication to her work distracted her from things like possible dating; she didn't mind it.

"I'm fine." She assured him turning her attention to him briefly to flash him a light smile. He returned back the action but it lingered more than hers she noticed. She always pretended not to notice such things though.

Her life was for the most part steady and normal. Her older brother, Chris Redfield, along with his long time partner Jill Valentine had finally taken down Albert Wesker. Umbrella was gone too seeing as they had taken care of that corrupt company before Wesker. There had been no recent outbreaks and it was relieving. Claire wasn't sure if she should let her guard down, however, seeing as last time she did she was stuck in an airport filled with zombies.

She hated flying. She was reminded of her incident in Rockfort Island and Harvardville. She thought of someone connected to the events then and sighed.

_Steve…_

The young, immature and brash seventeen year old boy she had met in Rockfort and tried to escape with. He had ended up, however, being injected by the T-Veronica virus by the crazy Ashford twins and sacrificed himself to protect Claire. She had nightmares for the longest time over the incident. She had felt a responsibility for Steve seeing as she was older than him (albeit only two years) and blamed herself for his death. Over the years she learned to deal with the guilt. Her brother had assured her numerous times that there was nothing she could have done. She always had the thoughts of I _could have done this – or this_; and they went on and on in a never ending cycle.

Her work at TerraSave made her feel better. She wasn't in the fighting line or anything but she was taking action – a more peaceful one and that was enough for her. Which was why she was now traveling with a co-worker of hers (_Jimmy Garza, _she reminded herself) to meet up with the others in Venezuela. She didn't know much Spanish but her companion was fluent in the language.

Claire looked out the window again and spotted the clear, sparking blue ocean below them.

"We're approaching Venezuela lands now." The pilot said then.

Claire blinked and leaned up along with Jimmy as they looked through the windows in front of them. There was indeed land up ahead. They were finally past all the water. They were now over head what appeared like woods – there were several trees sprouted, standing proudly tall and green.

Suddenly the helicopter stumbled and Claire jumped in her seat. "What's going on?" She questioned checking to make sure her belt was in place; it was.

"I don't know Miss. It looks like the helicopter is having engine problems. Damnit." He cursed under his breath trying to stir the plane.

"What? Are you kidding me?" Jimmy exclaimed. "Unbelievable!"

Claire ignored his fright and remained calm. "Land right away on the ground; avoid the ocean at all costs." She ordered.

"Alright. It's going to be a rocky landing though; hang on tight."

The helicopter headed lower and lower in speed. Claire held on tightly to her arm rest, her eyebrows furrowed down and felt sweat trickle down her forehead. It felt like they were falling – well they _were_ falling. She felt slightly light-headed at the feeling.

_This is nothing Redfield, you're dealt with worse, _she chided.

But she had a really bad feeling about this.

She closed her eyes and that was when the helicopter crashed onto the ground.

* * *

Steve heard beeping sounds coming from outside his room. He quickly stepped out and joined Sherry in front of the main computer that showed a blinking dot on a coordinate. They had surveillance set up all around the woods. Wesker had taken extreme means to make sure no one found the hidden base.

"Looks like we've got company." Sherry pointed out.

Steve frowned and then turned around beginning to walk away. Sherry noticed him and turned around as well. She knew he had his mood swings but she couldn't help but question him either way.

"Where are you going?" She inquired cocking her head.

Steve stopped and turned his head to her. His red eyes were glowing she noted. She should have been scared but she wasn't.

"I'm going to welcome them." He answered simply placing on his black gloves that were fingerless.

Sherry watched him and it was at that moment – with him all dressed in black (the sleeveless undershirt, jeans, and trench coat on top), and his expression calm– that she was oddly reminded of Albert Wesker himself.

* * *

Claire pushed her body from underneath the rumble. She coughed and pushed herself to her feet. Her body ached – she could feel the tenderness from where she was sure to have bruises.

_Great,_ she thought sarcastically. She looked around then and heard coughing.

She quickly turned around to see Jimmy pulling himself out. He was dirty and scratched up and she suspected she looked the same.

"Damn, I can't believe we survived that." He coughed out.

"How's the pilot?"

Jimmy glanced over to see the pilot still strapped in. He unbuckled him and pulled him out. The pilot made no movements so he proceeded to check his pulse; there was a dead pulse. It was then he noticed a line of blood drip down the pilot's forehead and he had a deep gash in this head where a huge rock had came crashing through the window and straight into his head. Claire and Jimmy were fortunate that they were in the back seats and thus any debris that came crashing in didn't hit them.

"He's dead." He pointed out.

Claire pressed her lips together, "Is the radio working?"

"No, it's dead."

"How about our phones?"

"There's no service out here."

Claire brushed a few loose strands that had fallen out of her ponytail out of her face. In other words they were stuck. She observed the area then. It was quiet except for the sounds of birds and insects. There were plenty of grass life and trees as well. It looked lively enough. She wasn't sure if that was supposed to make her feel comfortable; in any case it didn't.

"What do we do?" Jimmy finally asked unable to stand the silence.

The man just didn't know survival skills. Claire would have teased him if she wasn't too busy with her current thoughts. Anything could pop out at them at any moment.

_You're being paranoid now, _she thought dryly.

"We might as well look around. Maybe there's someone living here that can help us. Otherwise we'll just have to walk until we come across roads."

Her companion nodded but looked uneasy. She felt uneasy herself. She should have packed herself a gun; she hadn't used one since Harvardville, however. She wasn't one for guns either way – the very first time she had ever used one had been in Raccoon city, the one Leon had given her to defend herself. Claire glanced down to her leg were she had strapped hidden her brother's knife from his S.T.A.R.S. days in a holder for protection; she never left without it.

"Let's go." She urged taking the lead.

Someone had to take the role.

* * *

The wind hit Steve's face as he dashed past the trees. It felt good. It was like freedom – running as fast as he was. He was running at inhuman speed but he didn't care; he didn't hide what he was. This was his turf; he knew it better than anyone. The woods out here were hidden from civilization. Most people avoided heading in the woods due to rumors of killings happening – it was deserted except for them. He could feel his senses fully alerted by the virus in him; the smell of the crisp air, the multiples sounds of the insects and birds, the leaves falling from the trees slowly.

Then he smelled it - the smell of humanity.

Steve stopped in his tracks and looked ahead. He could see two figures – a male and female. The female seemed to be walking in front while the male walked behind cowardly.

_How pathetic,_ he scoffed.

The two were muttering things back and forth. It was starting to get on his nerves to hear them – _smell_ them. It was a different smell than Sherry's although that could probably be because he was already accustomed to Sherry's smell. Everyone though had their own distinct smell. It was easier for Steve to make the different smells out due to his tyrant abilities. The male had a deep, musky scent that was overpowered with cologne; he must have piled the scent on overly in the morning (Steve assumed that it was a sad attempt to impress his lady friend). The female, however, had a more natural scent; he could smell the soapy scent of the wash she had used this morning as well as the strawberry shampoo in her hair. It was…a bit _appetizing_. Steve then shook his head focusing.

_Hope they have their wills written out, _he thought before jumping in.

His movements were so quick and precise – it was all like a blur. One minute he was a few feet away from them and the next he was behind the male and was snapping his neck. It twisted easily with his strength. The sickening sound of a _crack _echoed and Jimmy's head was twisted so that it was now backwards. Steve dropped his hands and Jimmy fell to the ground with a thud instantly; his dead eyes were wide in horror and his mouth was wide open in a silent scream – it instantly drew any curious flies in it.

The female quickly turned around alerted and had drawn a small blade in her hand. From her stance it appeared like she was used to things like these and obviously she didn't look like the scared type. It _almost_ amused Steve.

"You made a big mistake picking this place to explore," He commented flexing his fingers.

She froze and her body stiffened he noticed. He took it upon himself to examine her before killing her. He didn't see women much aside from Sherry after all. She had long auburn hair that was tied in a ponytail with a few loose strands framing her perfectly oval shaped face. Her skin was a peachy color that was free of any blemishes or scars. Her eyes were a sapphire blue that seemed to radiate courage, maturity, and added onto her beauty. Her body he noted was definitely more developed than that of Sherry's. Overall she looked like she could be a model.*****

Her eyes then widened upon seeing him. Her pink lips parted but no words came out and then she tried again – licking her lips, the moist making them glisten. Steve briefly looked at them more out of boredom and natural curiosity than actually wanting a taste.

"S-Steve?" She breathed and it sounded like there was disbelief in her voice.

Steve narrowed his eyes. Who the hell was this woman and how did she know his name? He sure as _hell_ didn't know her.

_Maybe she knows about my past,_ he mused.

It was for that reason and only that reason he told himself that he instead of killing her, he quickly gave a sharp blow to her head with his fist knocking her out. He wasn't sure if he hit her too hard; sometimes he underestimated his strength but he could hear her soft breathing. She had fallen to the ground and he found himself staring at her. He felt a weird stirring in his stomach upon looking at her. He didn't like it one bit he concluded but she had answers and he was going to get them.

_Just who the hell are you…?_

He had no idea she was Claire Redfield, younger sister to the man who had killed Wesker, as well as the woman he had fallen in love so many years ago.

* * *

**Note**: *Something I took from the Code Veronica novel by S.D. Perry. Steve thinks Claire could be a model when he first runs into her. I thought it would be ironic to add it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Special Blabber: **Chapter two is here. Much thanks to people who reviewed last chapter. Excuse the long delay; college life has been unkind to me.

_Disclaimer – _Silly rabbit, Resident Evil is owned by Capcom.

* * *

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Two: Eye Of The Beholder

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"_Your perception of evil and my perception of evil are two different things Claire."_

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Sherry spotted Steve coming in. Her expression faltered slightly when she saw that he was carrying a woman that looked oddly very much like Claire Redfield. Her expression held a quizzical brow. She thought he would have killed all the visitors. It wasn't that she wanted him to kill Claire or anything like that – she didn't know one of the visitors was even Claire. She just knew Steve and thus why she found it surprising that he spared anyone. Tyrants appeared to enjoy the hunt and thrive on killing from her knowledge.

"What are you doing with her?" She asked as nonchalantly as she could. Better that he not know she knew Claire yet.

Steve placed, or more like dropped, Claire onto the ground and gave Sherry a dry look. He knew what she was thinking and he wasn't in the mood to be questioned. He had a weird day - meeting up with a woman that seemed to know him.

"Consider her a guest – at least you have a _human_ companion now."

His words were scathing and had an edge to them. Sherry pursed her lips noticing the sharp tone he had used on her. He must be really irritated to be acting like this towards her. Normally the two bickered but not like this.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" She asked sharply, furrowing her eyebrows down.

Steve sighed heavily and ran a few fingers through his red hair that seemed to gleam brightly like fire. He only ran his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated or trying to calm himself down. Sherry guessed it was a little of both right now.

"It's just…been a long day." Steve started looking at Sherry who now had her arms crossed, a defensive position; he then added, "sorry."

It was a short and simple apology but Sherry knew coming from Steve it was something. He hated apologizing and even more admitting that he was wrong. He was anything but humble. She uncrossed her arms and dropped them to her side, her expression relaxed as well. Why it was so easy to ignore his rudeness she'd never know. She guessed because she was accustomed to him.

"I made us something to eat. Want some?"

Steve shrugged nonchalantly, "I guess. Let me tie her up first."

He then proceeded to get some rope and tied Claire to a chair. He tied her arms behind her back and her feet to the chair. He doubted she'd be able to escape regardless but it was more for safety. She wouldn't be able to take him out but she could try to attack Sherry – who was very much human and a young, vulnerable one at that. His tying was exact and precise; tight enough so that she wouldn't escape but not tight enough that it would cut of her blood circulation. He didn't want to kill her – just yet anyways.

"What are you going to do with her?" Sherry dared to try to ask again. Certainly this time now that he's cooled off and probably a bit ashamed at snapping at her, he would answer her.

"She seems to know me." Steve answered simply and headed towards the small kitchen room. Sherry followed him shortly.

She served the plates with what appeared as salad and pasta. Two glasses filled with water were served as well on the rectangular wooden table. Steve sat at one end and Sherry sat beside him. She absently glanced at the opposite end and remembered how Wesker would always sit on the end of the table reading an article silently sometimes with a cup of black coffee. She turned her attention back to Steve then shaking away those thoughts that only served as a reminder of the life that no longer was the same.

"Oh?" She replied back, her voice collective and giving no hint at her knowing the very same thing.

She could have told him that he did know Claire back then but she didn't think it was her right to pry into his life. If he remembered it would have to be on his own ability or power – not anyone else's. It is for that reason that Sherry kept quiet on the matter. She was sure Claire would blab on about it anyways now that she was there. She wondered if Steve would believe Claire and how he would react.

Steve gulped down his food quickly (_like a pig,_ Sherry thought a bit amused and slightly disgusted) along with his drink and stood up abruptly. Sherry, who was taking a sip of her water, paused and glanced up at him, her eyes observant.

"I'm going to my room to lie down." Steve answered her silent question and walked away without another word.

Sherry watched him leave and then continued to eat her food without a word. It was nothing to worry about. Steve always after eating headed to his room to _brood. _She was used to his somewhat standoffish, better-on-my-own nature. She was also used to being alone either way – she had been for as long as she could remember. When she was little she was almost always alone due to her parents always working. At times she saw Wesker more than she did them. Despite everything she never did hate her parents either – they were her parents and she loved them. In the beginning she had only been living with Wesker but years later (precisely seven) Steve joined them – the two were like her family. Now with Wesker dead, Steve was the only bit of her family left. What if Claire somehow got through to him and got him to leave her too? There was a sudden sick, unsettling feeling in her stomach at the thought. Sherry placed her spoon down slightly glowering at the unfinished pasta.

She felt a bit bad but she hoped that Steve never remembered Claire.

* * *

Steve closed his room door behind him and slumped onto his bed. He glanced up at the blank ceiling absently. His room wasn't heavily decorated with posters or signs or anything like that. It was more plain and simple. He didn't like distracting things hanging on his wall either way. His walls were painted a bold red color that resembled his hair color which is why he told himself he decided to color the walls that way - that and it was his favorite color.

The red haired tyrant stretched his arms out and then crossed his arms behind his head. It had been a long day. He was still trying to absorb the recent news of Wesker's death.

He thought back about the visitors. It had felt _good_ killing. It was a sort of powerful, fulfilling feeling that he couldn't really describe or explain. Wesker had told him it was natural for Tyrants. The tiny part of him that had the feelings of his previous human life felt disgusted and like a monster at those moments but the major part of him, the Tyrant, felt the quench for blood thirst fulfilled by the act.

Steve would have killed the female too if she hadn't taken him off guard by somehow knowing his name. It couldn't be a coincidence. Her eyes had even lit up in recognition he had noticed. Strangely though there was something else inside of him that made him stop from killing her. Deep, deep down, there was a part of him that had called out to him urging him to stop immediately. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was his memories and feelings from his past life calling out to him. He wasn't sure if he should be welcoming or rejecting such feelings.

Sherry had seemed casual about the sudden "drop in" guest but Steve suspected something was up with her. He had seen the faltered look as she noticed the auburn haired woman he was carrying. It didn't make much sense to him as to why she had reacted like that. He could question her but knowing Sherry she'd feign ignorance. She was anything but ignorant he knew. Sherry Birkin displayed a remarkable amount of intelligence when it came to science especially. When he questioned her on it, she had shrugged and told him simply that her parents were scientists and she learned everything from them at a young age. They sounded like education slave drivers in his opinion. He decided then to question on her reaction regardless and observe her answer.

Steve released a small breath and rolled to his side staring at the once sealed up window. When he had first awoken to be in the base, the windows had all been sealed up with bars along with the doors making any attempt futile. In the beginning all he did was try to escape from the hellhole he woke up in. Sherry had always rolled her eyes noticing his attempt after attempt and one day told him he was wasting his energy and time. It had pissed him off so much that he had tried to attack her and possibly could have killed her even had Wesker not arrived in time. It was safe to say that Wesker beat him to a bloody pulp for that event. Steve slightly winced remembering the way Wesker had slammed him into the coffee table and the glass instantly shattering at the force, some shards digging into his skin, and he calmly but dangerously told Steve if he ever touched Sherry again he would kill him. Steve never did try to hurt Sherry again after that. He remembered clearly the look she had given him that day as his hands were around her neck, pressing hard around her small almost swan like neck. It was a look of utter defiance, and unfaltering fearlessness even at the face of impending death. She had only been nineteen at the time.

Steve didn't know what demons Sherry had faced in her past life but he knew it couldn't have been pretty.

He began to respect her after that.

Steve thought then about Wesker's left projects. Before his death, Wesker had been working on a virus that he intended on releasing on the state. It would be an enormous outbreak. Anyone with a conscience would upon realizing the magnitude of the virus, would immediately destroy information on it but Steve wasn't just anyone. He wasn't even human he reminded himself. He for the most part appeared human despite his crimson eyes but he was just a wolf in sheep skin.

And he had nothing else to lose.

The red haired tyrant wasn't too sure what he was going to do with his prisoner. He got as far as to question her seeing as she appeared to know him and then he concluded he would kill her and be done with it. He didn't need to be responsible for someone else aside from himself. _Sherry is more than enough of a responsibility,_ he thought wryly.

Steve felt his eyelids get heavy and fatigue came upon him strongly. It had been a long day and although his excuse to Sherry to leave the table had been to lie down feigning fatigue to not be disturbed he realized he really was tired after all. He shut his eyes then and allowed himself to rest for a little while.

* * *

Claire stirred, her eyelids began to flutter and she opened them slowly. Her vision spun before her and she closed her eyes again to try to calm the spinning. She felt like someone had hit her with a giant rock. Her eyes opened again and the Redfield woman tried to digest the situation. Her feet and hands were tied quite forcibly to a chair preventing any attempts at an escape. She looked around noticing the room she was in was empty and it was silent for the most part.

_Where am I…? _She thought to herself.

She remembered then seeing Steve Burnside standing near Jimmy's dead body with a stance that was borderline menacing. He looked so much older than the day he had died back in Antarctica – certainly if she imagined seeing him he would look like he did back then and not aged right? She wasn't entirely sure. Maybe she imagined it after all or she mistook him for someone else that looked just like him. The Steve she knew didn't have light red colored eyes. The Steve she knew was _dead._

She had to get out of here, wherever here was.

She shuffled and shifted in the chair trying to get loose from the ropes. It wasn't an easy task but she wasn't about to sit helpless like a floating duck in a lake. Her actions immediately stopped when she heard a clatter of dishes nearby. She froze and glanced up warily. The person that then appeared was someone she most definitely didn't expect.

"S-Sherry...," Claire gasped in disbelief.

It was Sherry but it wasn't the Sherry she remembered. This Sherry was older – matured. She was probably only a year or so over the age Claire had been when she had left to Raccoon City and ran into Leon and her.

"Claire." Sherry responded imitating Claire's response albeit much calmer and collected.

"What are you doing here? Where are we?"

There were so many questions and Claire had little answers.

Sherry brushed a loose strand of her hair back. "I live here and we're in a base in Venezuela." She answered simply.

"You live here?" Claire repeated, her eyes wide and eyebrows furrowing down. Why was she here? She didn't understand anything.

Sherry nodded her head, "Steve is resting. He'll be up shortly and he'll expect answers."

"Steve? Steve is dead." Claire replied back automatically. She would know; she saw him die after all. She had felt his body go cold and then limp after declaring his love for her. She had cried over and over, clinging to his lifeless body as the heavy, strong feelings of despair overcame her. The tragic event had never left her mind. It was forever imprinted in her memory.

"Wesker brought him back." Sherry said airily.

Wesker. Even now that name still haunted them. Claire felt like even through death he would continue to perpetually haunt them. She remembered Wesker telling her that Steve could probably be revived by the virus and able to meet her again but she had assumed it was him merely toying with her feelings; the man had a knack for that. Reality hit her hard then. _If_ Wesker decided to bring Steve back - _if_ somehow Steve survived and was alive at this very moment then he was infected. The faint memory of light red glowing eyes came to her mind and reality sunk in. He was a tyrant like Wesker. A cold, shivering feeling ran down her spine at the realization.

"Impossible…" She spluttered over the word, her voice slightly cracked and her throat suddenly dry.

"It's true. Wesker brought him back to life. He's been living with us for almost two years now." Sherry glanced at Claire with something like reluctance then before proceeding, "He doesn't remember anything in his previous life, however."

The cold feeling increased. It was almost numbing.

_He doesn't remember me?_

It had been almost eight years but she hadn't forgotten – not even one detail of their time together. The harshness of the truth hurt her like a thousand prickling needles. That was why he could have easily hurt her like he did when they met. To him, she was nothing but a random stranger with no connection.

"Wesker is dead." Claire suddenly spoke, her voice strong and assertive. Maybe they didn't know and felt still threatened to stay in the base.

The smile that came across Sherry's lips was very wry Claire noted. "We _know_ that. We both decided to stay regardless. This is our home and has been for years. We're accustomed to it; for us to drastically leave wouldn't feel right."

"But Wesker is evil – everything he created is evil." The auburn haired woman insisted.

Sherry gave Claire a dry look. "Your perception of evil and my perception of evil are two different things Claire."

Who was this girl in front of her? It certainly didn't seem like the Sherry Claire had known. She had changed into someone she almost didn't recognize despite the similar appearance to the young Sherry. They all had changed throughout the years but there was something almost uncanny about Sherry's personality. Everything she said was casual, observant and more mature than her years. It took Claire completely off guard.

"Sherry, he created _those_ things; those things killed people, thousands of them."

The way Sherry was talking was as if she didn't believe Albert Wesker was evil at all. The thought was preposterous in itself. No one deserved the title of evil more than that _man._

"He took care of me and Steve. If it wasn't for him neither of us would be here." Sherry said simply. There was such finality in her tone. It was as if she wasn't about to budge on her views about Wesker.

"But he still killed people. He controlled Jill, a friend of my brother's, and he's tried to kill my brother Chris several times!"

At the mention of Chris's name, Claire noticed that Sherry's eyes narrowed and something that appeared like resentment flashed in her beautiful blue orbs. It was gone as soon as she saw it, however.

"And _Chris_ killed him – I'd say it's even."

Claire's mouth gapped in disbelief. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be that simple as Sherry was making it seem. Two wrongs didn't make a right; Claire knew this and she wasn't sure if Sherry was hinting at that herself with her comment.

"Besides if your brother turned evil would you suddenly stop caring about him?"

Claire furrowed her eyebrows at the question, "No but that's different."

"Don't be a hypocrite Claire." Sherry said with a hint of condescending in her voice.

Claire was taken aback by Sherry's sharp remark. Neither of them we're going to win this argument she realized. Claire spurned Wesker while Sherry defended him. Their values and opinions were something that weren't easily changeable – if changeable.

"What are you two going to do with me?" Claire asked finally, her lips pressed together.

"Steve brought you here on his own call," Sherry pointed out, "he said you appeared to know him. I think he's just going to question you." She paused and seemed to hesitate.

She knew that more than likely Steve was going to kill Claire after he got his answers. If she told Claire, she was bound to get anxious and possibly aggravate him more with her fiery personality. There was also the fact that Steve didn't want Claire to know his hidden intentions and her already telling Claire half of them would get him angry at Sherry. Sherry felt a bit torn in the decision.

Claire noticing Sherry's internal feuding by her expression suddenly spoke out, "Sherry?" Her voice was etched with concern – almost motherly concern that was warm and touching and had not Sherry felt slight resentment and betrayal at Claire she would have relished in the warm feeling the concern invoked.

"He'll more than likely kill you after all this." Sherry stated finally.

Despite the fact that Steve would more than likely dislike her for revealing his motives, Sherry felt like it was the best thing to do. Claire had nothing to do with them anymore. She didn't _belong_ here with them.

Claire froze instantly and her heart pulsed furiously in her chest at the thought. She couldn't believe Steve would hurt her; her heart refused to believe such a thing. But he had hurt her already hadn't he? What was to say he wouldn't do it again but this time with the intent on killing?

_No, I can't believe that. He's __**still**__ Steve, _Claire thought pushing those negative thoughts away.

Infected or not he was Steve and that was that. She just had to talk to him and he'd remember and things would change. The three of them would leave Wesker's base and away from all the evil the man produced.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?" Sherry asked then. Claire wasn't sure if it was out of kindness or mere politeness that she asked.

"Maybe some water."

Sherry walked away and this left Claire a few seconds to contemplate the situation. She was being held hostage by an old acquaintance of hers who didn't remember her and would more than likely kill her – _and_ the little girl she had guiltily left behind was now on his side. The reality of it all made her feel a little more than just sick. It was almost ironic.

Sherry returned with a glass of water and something shiny and silver in her hand – a blade. Claire felt her heart pound in her chest in trepidation. A few minutes ago she wouldn't have felt any anxiety whatsoever upon seeing Sherry with a blade but the realization that this Sherry was hardly the very young and yet brilliant girl she had run into in Raccoon city made her feel like she was in the dark. The blonde haired woman tilted the cup to Claire's lips and Claire took a long gulp surprising herself by finishing the whole cup easily. She hadn't known the full extent of her own thirst at that moment. The cool water was relieving as it slipped down her parched throat. It did nothing to ease her fears, however.

The blonde placed the cup on the nearby table and she eyed Claire with something like contemplation. If anything it made Claire more anxious. She wasn't sure if the young woman was debating killing her or throwing her to the wolves – tyrant.

"You shouldn't be here." She said pointedly and Claire felt her heart sink.

The words were more cold than sympathetic although she could hint a bit of sympathy in Sherry's voice. When had this little girl grown into someone so tall? Claire had met her when she could only cower behind someone but now here she stood tall, fearless – having lived with two powerful tyrants and survived. And she either knew Steve very well or they had a close relationship in which they shared personal thoughts with each other. The Steve she had met had been very difficult when it came to talking about his feelings or past so it was hard for Claire to believe he would readily tell someone else. She realized then that she didn't know anything about these two people that she thought she knew so well. They had changed, evolved and she was still stuck in the past. She had tried to move forward in her life but her whole life had been devoted to stopping bio-terrorism like Chris and the others. If she had been over the outbreak nightmares then maybe she would have gone back to school and finish her degree – something along those lines and put the dreaded, tragic events behind her but she just couldn't; neither of them could.

Sherry bit her lip, her eyes narrowing in thought still. She didn't know what this action would prove out to be but she knew this was for the best – for all of them. So, it was with this mind set that Sherry aimed the sharpened blade and lowered it without hesitation.

Claire saw the blade rise and she shut her eyes awaiting the stabbing pain in her skin; it never came. She opened her eyes reluctantly and was surprised to find Sherry cutting the rope on her legs and then her arms. The bonds immediately snapped and loosened. She pulled her limbs loose and stared at her now free hands. The look she gave Sherry was quizzical and Sherry reacted with a dry look of her own. Something about the look made Claire feel like Sherry was saying, _what you really thought I was going to kill you?_

"You have to leave. Steve has a motorcycle hidden near the base; you can't miss it. The key is already in the ignition. Go now." Sherry detailed calmly.

Claire watched her walk into the kitchen and placed the blade quickly away. When she returned, Claire stood up from the chair feeling her limbs a tad bit sore from the uncomfortable position she had been in.

"Come with me." Claire said finally, voice assertive once more.

Sherry appeared slightly taken aback from the request. Her almond shaped eyes widened a fraction, and her pink pouty lips parted whether to speak or take a breath Claire wasn't sure. The resolution came to her eyes then and it was with such irrevocability that she responded with a simple sentence that both shocked and broke Claire's heart.

"I won't leave with you." Sherry shook her head and then added as if to lessen the hurt she inflicted and make it less personal for Claire, "I won't leave Steve."

"Sherry…," Claire started realizing she was going to lose this battle.

"_Go_ Claire. Go and don't look back."

Claire felt herself gulp and her palms were sweaty. Sherry was giving her a means of escape but the solution would mean that she could never see them again after this – it was an unspoken request. The air was filled with such tension that Claire felt like she could drown in it. She didn't want to leave either of them – even if it meant she had to face horrifying events like the one she faced in Raccoon City and years later in Harvardville. She didn't think she could walk away from this – _them_ as if nothing had ever existed between her and them. It was because something did exist, a past between them that she couldn't walk away. It would forever eat her inside if she did. Back then she had been young, brash and a little naïve but she was no longer in her adolescent years – she was an adult.

"I…can't. I won't leave you both here." Claire declared, her voice strong like the Redfield blood running in her veins. Her family prided themselves in strength and she was anything but weak and a coward.

"You have to Claire. He won't give you a chance. Leave while you have the chance or you'll regret it." Sherry sighed – a heavy, and tired sigh.

"I—" Claire started but a sudden slamming sound started both her and Sherry.

Claire barely caught the startled glance of Sherry. She could see the anxiety and doubt cloud in her ice blue eyes as she stared past Claire to a figure behind her. She stiffened already knowing full well who it was and turned around quickly. She had told herself she had prepared herself for the worst but the worst so happened to be a tyrant form of the boy she had grown to care for in Rockfort Island – she could never prepare herself for that.

His light crimson eyes were eerily glowing she noted; it was dark, and dare she say reminded her a little too much of Albert Wesker. He certainly didn't look too happy at the moment either.


	3. Chapter 3

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Three: Where the Wild Things Are

_._

"_Those 'things' are the projects that were worked on here."_

.

.

"Steve," Sherry started making her way past Claire and standing in front of her as if to defend her.

Claire felt her heart pound in her chest furiously and tingles run across her skin. She couldn't believe it, for her to be actually staring upon the very much alive body of Steve Burnside. He looked so much older now, and dare she say matured. There was an alluring darkness to him that she couldn't quite shake off. However, this _man_ was different than the boy she had tried to escape with all those years ago too. There was no hint of childlikeness to him. His expression was hard, calculating even – nothing like she remembered. But the vibrant red shade of his hair brought upon such wistful feelings. It was exactly like she remembered. He was definitely better looking now that he was older and lost his childlike appeal. His eyes, however, chilled her a bit despite the exoticness of them. They looked more like rubies than the color of blood. And despite the similar color they didn't look exactly like cat eyes like Wesker's did. There was no catlike slit to them.

"What the hell is she doing untied?" Steve asked sternly, motioning with his eyes to Claire.

Sherry pressed her lips together not sure of how to progress. Tell him the truth? She guessed so.

"I untied her. She shouldn't be here." Sherry answered as a matter-of-factly.

Steve growled and ran a few fingers through his locks of hair. "It was my decision to keep her. Don't interfere."

The blonde shook her head stubbornly. She didn't like this situation at all. She knew what Steve was fully capable and Claire wouldn't be safe here. If and when he found out that she was related to the man that killed Wesker, the situation would escalate. He'd show no mercy. And Claire didn't deserve to be harmed. She was just a bystander caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing more.

Sherry appeared about to say something more but Claire cut her off. "Steve…," she breathed in disbelief, eyes widening, refraining herself from rubbing them.

Steve raised an eyebrow. There she went again with calling his name in that sickly sweet tone of hers. He didn't know her so why was she looking at him like that? And why did he suddenly feel that stirring feeling in the pit of his stomach happen again? His chest felt tight.

"Do I even know you?" He asked curtly, not really caring regardless.

Claire wasn't sure if her expression displayed how hurt that sentence made her feel. It was one thing for a person to tell you that someone important to you forgot about you, but it was another to hear it first hand from that said person. A burning sensation stirred up in her throat and Claire moistened her lips.

"Of course you do Steve. It's me. Claire—" Claire would have told him her full name if Sherry hadn't suddenly pinched her in her back, painfully twisting the skin in place. She flinched in pain and looked down at Sherry who was giving her a reprimanding look.

"I don't remember any Claire's." Steve added with a shrug. "But if you're not going to be tied then you're going to have to wear a special choker instead, incase."

"I don't think that's necessary Steve." Sherry retorted brushing a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. She knew where he was getting at. And if Claire did run off, she knew the consequences the choker would inflict on her. She had seen the damage with Steve when he first arrived here. It wasn't pretty.

"What? Are you on her side now?" He scoffed, irritation heavily noted in his voice. One of the things he hated most was when people backstabbed or switched sides.

"I'm _not_ on her side."

"I'll just wear it." Claire jumped in sparing another heated argument.

It sounded like a stupid necklace that probably just sounded if she tried to escape. She didn't know why Sherry was making a big deal over it. She had no intention of leaving without the two either at any rate. It was dangerous here.

Steve walked over to her tantalizingly slow, a black banded choker in his hands that had a blinking light on it. He stopped a few steps away from her to put on the item. The slightly callous skin of his hands brushed light against her neck, and she involuntarily shuddered. Her eyes darted up to his a few seconds before he backed away quickly, catching the golden ring around his pupil. The choker seemed to click in place. She felt a pinching sensation against her neck suddenly and winced. It hurt. The neck of her skin burned.

Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose and Claire realized he was suddenly fidgeting a bit. His booted foot tapped slightly. Was he nervous somehow?

"You're lucky this one doesn't attach to the skin as much," he mumbled, "I wasn't as fortunate."

Claire blinked, one, twice. Had he been treated badly? She didn't doubt it seeing as Wesker was incapable of caring for another human being. He didn't have the capacity for such a human emotion as caring.

He turned towards Sherry then. "Can you leave? I want to talk to her alone."

Sherry felt a prickling sensation run down her body. A part of her didn't want to leave them alone. She feared the worst case scenario. However, she realized it was her own paranoia. With lips pursed, the blonde shrugged nonchalantly trying to appear uncaring about how Steve didn't want her to hear on their conversation. What were they going to talk about anyways that she couldn't hear it?

'_Well, at least he asked and didn't order me around._' She mused.

She couldn't very well watch them forever at any rate. After turning around, Sherry stopped at Claire's side whispering something in her ear quickly and as softly as she could. Steve wouldn't be able to catch her words this way.

"Whatever you do, don't mention your last name or Chris's."

And with that said Sherry left without another word. Claire stood frozen in her place unsure of how to progress with this. She had been in many situations, most obviously terrible but this one certainly took the cake. She couldn't very well hurt Steve because he was despite his infected body, still Steve. Her mind was still in a state of awe and shock that he was still here – alive.

Steve watched her cautiously, leaning against the wall, arms crossed and one foot placed against the wall as the other held his position on the ground.

"So, you knew me as a human I'm guessing." He started casually.

"Yeah," Claire agreed with a small nod, "I was nineteen and you were about seventeen then."

He appeared taken off guard by this fact. "That long ago, huh."

"It's a long story…" She mumbled and then paused, "what are you going to do with me?"

Steve smirked, his lips twitching a bit upwards on one side. "Just give me my answers and we'll deal with the un-pleasantries later."

"You're going to kill me."

It wasn't a question.

He raised a dark brow. She didn't sound scared one bit. By the looks of it this woman wasn't an everyday woman despite the fact that he didn't come across them much. Aside from Sherry, the lady in red was the only other woman he saw. And she annoyed the hell out of him quite frankly, just because she acted quite superior at times for a mere human.

"It depends."

He'd amuse her for now.

"On?" She asked, beautiful blue eyes slightly narrowed, and arms crossed under her chest drawing attention to it.

His eyes darted down and up from where her arms were crossed. She was pretty snarky but then again she was a redhead. Her hair was a different shade than his though. It was more of a brownish-red. It suited her. Upon realizing where his thoughts had trailed off to Steve mentally scolded himself. What the hell was he doing? He told himself it was just the fact that he wasn't used to seeing many women and left it at that. There was nothing more to it than mere curiosity.

Steve shrugged in response. "How you act. I can't have you going out there and telling the world about this base. They'd try to get rid of Sherry and me."

"I wouldn't do that to you both…" Claire said softly, her lips slightly pursed whether in contemplation or concern he wasn't too sure.

"You know her too don't you?"

"Yes, I do."

Steve sighed and ran a few fingers through his hair. He honestly didn't know where to go with this. She was _too_ nice; too honest. He had come across some pretty fucked up people in the past but she most definitely didn't fit that category. For some reason he got the feeling that she got along with other people very well. A people person, social butterfly – whatever you wanted to call it. He doubted she knew what it was like to be alone, and for reasons beyond his comprehension that irritated him. Was it jealously?

Claire shifted and Steve brought his attention back to her. He'd figure out what to do with her later.

"You have a phone on you right? Hand it over." He ordered, pushing himself off the wall to take a few steps near her, and held his hand out.

Claire sighed, a soft and tired sigh, before digging into her pockets and pulling out her phone to hand over. Steve took it immediately and in a flash he had cracked it in half, bits and pieces of it falling onto the ground. Her eyes widened with her mouth slightly agape.

"Don't expect to be getting any calls or being tracked." He detailed dusting his hands together and dropping the remains on the ground.

Even if she gathered all the pieces together there was no way she'd be able to put it together again. Even the battery was torn apart. His strength was inhuman.

'_Well, he isn't human remember?' _She reminded herself although it was still hard to believe.

Steve turned on the balls of his heels. "I wouldn't try to escape if I were you. You'll wish you hadn't." He added before getting ready to depart.

He had to talk to Sherry now.

Claire felt herself gulp. Her throat felt so dry. Her mind was fuzzy with rushing thoughts. She didn't know what to think or feel out of all of this. Relief? Fear? Betrayal? Somehow none of those fit. Of course, she was glad they weren't harmed and back but this sort of situation wasn't what she hoped to be reunited with them. But obviously beggars certainly couldn't be choosers. She knew one thing for certain though amidst all her doubt and confusion.

"Steve…I'm so glad you're alive."

Steve faltered in his steps upon hearing her words. That _voice_. That soft, caring tone echoed in her equally beautiful voice. His chest suddenly tightened. Despite his amnesia he remembered how that voice echoed in his head, almost painfully at times, over and over. As time went by he learned how to shut it out but now with it being so near now…

"Whatever…" He grumbled continuing his walk and not sparing her another glance.

Claire sighed when she noticed him out of sight. Her words didn't seem to have any effect on him. She wondered if he even cared to remember. The thought hurting her more than she thought it would. Her crystal blue eyes darted to the ruined phone on the ground. It was useless obviously. Anyone who tried to call her would never get in contact with her now. And she was supposed to call Chris later today. He was bound to freak out because despite the fact that it was 'okay' for _him_ not to answer the phone if she called, she _had_ to answer the phone for him.

'_Talk about double-standards._' She thought dryly.

Even though she hated worrying her brother and was sure he was going to act recklessly upon realizing her sudden disappearance, she couldn't find it in herself to concentrate on that thought alone. Steve and Sherry were here – okay. Her heart was fluttering in her chest at the feelings of contentment and disbelief at this discovery. She had been haunted forever by the thoughts of what had happened to the two but now she was here with them.

'_And so help me God, I'm not leaving this time without the both of them.'_ She concluded with such finality.

Nothing else mattered to her at that moment. Not even what fate awaited her. She'd risk it all for their sake.

* * *

"You lied to me."

Sherry raised an eyebrow, pausing from her reading, and looked up at Steve's figure. "Pardon?"

"You knew her."

Her. Claire was what he meant by 'her' obviously. Steve only called people by their names that he liked. It was the way she realized when Steve starting liking her; he started calling her by her name.

"I didn't lie. You never asked if I knew her." She clarified with a cock of her head.

'_Smartass response…,' _Steve rolled his eyes. "Fine, you withheld information from me."

Sherry's lips twitched slightly upwards. She could tell what he was thinking just from his expression. She had learned to read him quite well in the past along with Wesker, of course. Everyone had always noted how observant Sherry was. She had been that way even as a child.

"I didn't think it would matter." The blonde answered honestly.

It didn't change anything. If Steve decided to kill Claire he would do so regardless if Sherry knew her. She knew this. It was for that reason Sherry had tried to warn Claire but the pigheaded auburn haired woman refused to listen.

Steve grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't catch. His arms were crossed across his chest and he was leaning against the wall, ankles crossed. Normally he never came into her room like this. They only met in her room once or twice in the past.

The lampshade on the nearby wooden table lit the room dimly. She dared a glance up at him taking in his expression. His facial expression gave nothing but his eyes looked surprisingly soft.

'_Or maybe he does like her already and he's just in denial._' She thought pressing her lips together.

Honestly she couldn't say she was surprised. Claire had that air of hers that attracted people to her. When she was a child, despite the fact that she often ran away from Claire, she had wanted to stay by Claire's side. Something about her was _warm_, motherly even. Claire would lend a helping hand to anyone, even a stranger. She was that type of person. But she was also the type of person to choose her brother over someone else although that wasn't really deplorable. He was the last remaining member of her family after all. It still hurt, however.

"You're not really going to kill her." Sherry mused.

Steve's eyes widened a bit and she noted the surprise that came across his face. Maybe he hadn't really thought about doing the latter after all. Despite him being a tyrant like he was there was still lingering pre-feelings from his human life. It was for that reason that he disliked killing women. He had hurt Sherry at one point but she figured he just lost his temper and after that he had been pretty guilty around her because after that incident he acted quite civil around her.

'_I don't think I can.'_ He thought to himself, furrowing his eyebrows. And that irked him. Deep inside there was a strong voice that cried out to him not to hurt her. He couldn't exactly label it but it was there. He'd die before he admitted it out loud though.

'_Well…die _again_.' _

Steve merely shrugged in response.

"Do I have a reason to? She seems pretty harmless to me." He uncrossed his legs and arms. "But I am going to keep a close eye on her. She can't leak out anything to the outside world about this base."

Sherry nodded briefly and then glanced down to her opened book. She was at a really good part, and despite her enjoying Steve's company when he wasn't being such a pain, she really wanted to return to her reading.

"Night Sherry," Steve added turning around heading out the door perhaps sensing her eagerness to return to her book.

"Goodnight Steve." Sherry mumbled back in response but he was already gone.

She stared at the closed door blinking. He may be beginning to like Claire but if he were to find out she was the sister to the same man that killed Wesker it would change things. He would use her, destroy her from the inside. She would become a tool to torture Chris. Fear grew in the pit of Sherry's stomach at the idea.

'_I hope for her sake he doesn't ever realize that.'_

* * *

Claire gasped, eyes widening in horror, at the capsules. She had wandered in the base and came across a shut metal double door in the back. The card reader had been broken so she had no problem entering. Inside the room were several capsules with creatures floating in what appeared a comatose state. The looked horrendous as well. None of these creatures looked familiar to the ones she saw during the incidents. One of them looked more or less like a giant amphibian with its webbed clawed feet, scaly green skin, and huge mouth that could swallow a person whole. The latter idea made Claire shudder involuntarily.

Her eyes drew to a capsule with a tall creature that appeared the worst out of them all. It had long, sharp claws on its hands and toes that could probably cut off a person's head with a single slice. It had red bubble like circles on the top of its head and down its back that looked like boils. It was tall as well, probably towering a height over six feet.

'_What…is _this_?'_

It was horrific. It was a lab room filled with these abominations that were created by mankind and yet were a major threat to mankind.

They had to leave this base and destroy it before these things somehow escaped. It would be apocalyptic if they ever did escape. Another outbreak was something that she did not want to ever see again. It had to end permanently – this biohazard nightmare.

'_I don't know exactly how I'm going to convince Sherry and Steve to leave with me._' Claire thought with a small sigh.

Their lives had been entwined with Wesker's for years. She couldn't (or maybe didn't want to) understand their attachment to the base because of the fact that it was _Wesker_ who worked here. He was the mastermind behind all of this. And yet despite the fact he was now dead, it was as if he really wasn't. There would always be something to remind them all of the terrors he inflicted – emotionally and physically. All of them had their scars to hide.

Wanting nothing more than to leave the room, Claire turned on her heels and began to head to the door. One of the creatures had awaken from its sleep and jumped at the plastic wall, hitting the walls strongly with a loud thud. In response she jumped in surprise and slammed backwards into a computer keyboard behind her. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest in fright, taken off guard. An alarm rang then and she quickly stepped forward realizing she had activated something unintentionally.

"Oh god..," She breathed as a red light flashed in the room in warning.

Her eyes darted up in time to catch one of the capsules lowering the plastic wall down. She stepped back slowly as the green webbed-feet gamma hunter was released. It made weird breathing sounds and ooze dripped down its body, mouth parting to show its huge mouth and red tongue. Claire turned away and made a dash for the door. Unfortunately the hunter cut her off appearing at the door beforehand. With eyes wide, heart pounded furiously in her chest, Claire stepped backwards slowly. She didn't know how this creature attacked but she knew now that it was fast and more than likely very dangerous. Her eyes darted to the table finding a heavy appearing book lying on it. She quickly grabbed the book and threw it at the hunter. The book hit it dead on and it hissed in response charging forward.

Claire jumped over the computers onto the other side just in time. The hunter made another eerie breathing sound that was low and raspy. It proceeded to then jump over the other side in a leap. Claire ran over the corner to the door, slamming on it. It wouldn't open.

'_Dammit…this is just my luck.'_

"Hey lady, are you in there?" Steve's voice echoed through the doors.

"Steve! I'm stuck and something got out. It's green and fast." Claire cried quickly, slight fear etching in her voice.

There was rustling sounds coming from the opposite side.

"Shit…keep running. Whatever you do don't let it get close to you." Steve ordered.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Claire turned around and starting running just in time as the hunter approached her making a swift, slashing motion. She slammed against the opposite wall, wincing in pain as her shoulder throbbed from the impact.

She looked up in the opposite corner and spotted an object sealed in glass. A gun. It was labeled in red, _in case of emergency. _If this didn't count as an emergency she didn't know what did. She dashed to the corner coming to a stop in front of the glass. Her eyes searched for something she could use to break the glass.

'_There has to be something I could use…_' She thought, eyebrows furrowing down in contemplation.

A shuffling sound was heard and she turned in time to see a flash of green. Instantly a painful burning sensation ran through her body. The scratch ran from her elbow down to her wrist, skin ripping open as blood oozed out in abundance. She felt light-headed from the blood loss and fell backwards, landing on her behind. The hunter was now slowly approaching her, its mouth parting wide.

A loud thumping sound was heard then as Steve slammed himself into the room. His eyes were wide, breaths racing, as he spotted Claire then on the ground with the hunter about to finish her off by swallowing her whole.

'_Shit!'_ Steve thought dashing and jumping over the machines onto her side.

He swung in the air and landed a powerful kick on top of the gamma hunter. It hissed and Steve jumped down to Claire's side, landing a few inches in front of her. He swung his arm back then and impacted a punch so quick and powerful that Claire could swear she saw flashes of red light his body in the action. The hunter flew backwards and hit the wall with a loud slamming sound, indenting the wall with the hit.

Steve turned his attention to the glass sealed magnum gun and slammed his fist into the glass. The glass shattered loudly and flickered shards of glass everywhere. Blood dripped down Steve's knuckles and he felt a slight raw burning sensation but he ignored it. The gun's safety was taken off and he aimed the gun just as the hunter was stirring, pulling the trigger finally.

A loud gunshot echoed through Claire's ears and the strong smell of iron and gunshot powder filled her nose. She looked ahead of her, past Steve's figure, towards the now dead hunter. A puddle of blood was beneath it and it had a bullet hole directly in its head, a deep hole that ripped and split the flesh open. Her stomach felt queasy whether from the blood loss or sight of blood she didn't know so she quickly looked away.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked then turning around to face her.

Claire looked up at him. "Yeah," she murmured, her eyelashes fluttering dizzily.

He knelt down beside her to examine her wound. "It needs to be cleaned up properly and wrapped so it doesn't get infected."

He was close to her again. She could see the rise and fall of his chest. So real, so_ alive._

Claire fell forwards into his chest wanting nothing more than to embrace him but her body felt weak and she couldn't manage to move her injured arm. He felt warm – _strong_. She felt him stiffen in response and a few seconds after he was pushing her away a little more on the rough side. She winced as her injured arm was disturbed.

"Let's go. Do you need some help?" He asked.

She got the feeling he really didn't want to touch her despite his offer. Claire shook her head standing up wobbly to her feet. Feelings of slight dejection and irritation bubbled inside her.

"I can manage." She said stubbornly.

He didn't even look at her again as they exited the room.

* * *

Claire winced and bit onto her bottom lip more than likely drawing blood as Steve poured rubbing alcohol onto her wound. It burned and throbbed like hell. He began to wrap a bandage wrap around her arm, slowly and a bit tightly. Throughout it all he held such a concentrated expression, the smell of _sweet_ blood tickling his nose. He needed to finish up quickly before his tyrant senses overtook him.

"You don't know how to be gentle do you?" She asked trying to be teasing although it ended up sounding bordering on sarcasm instead.

Steve glanced up at her from his kneeled position. His eyes were bright in the dimly lit room. She spotted his lips press together, eyebrows furrowed down, and he avoided her gaze again.

Claire sighed realizing he wasn't going to answer her comment. Steve clipped the wrap in place and immediately stood to his feet taking a few steps back. He was in a black militia outfit that was similar to what she had seen Wesker in. It suited him. It made the bright color of his hair and eyes stand out.

"Don't explore the rooms. You'll come across some pretty dangerous things in here." Steve said simply.

She shook her head. "Why are those things here?"

"Those 'things' are the projects that were worked on here."

Claire cradled her wounded arm and looked down the ground pensive. It still hurt. The scar would be another reminder just how dangerous these biohazard creatures were.

"They should all be destroyed."

Steve scoffed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Not likely. This was the Organizations' and Wesker's work. And I've been passed down the torch." He shrugged then as if it wasn't such a big deal that he was following in the footsteps of a mad man.

'…_passed down the torch?'_

"You're…going to continue his work?" She questioned in disbelief. The idea had never crossed her mind before. She had merely thought Sherry and Steve were prisoners by Wesker and wanted nothing to do with him. The fact that it was the opposite made a feeling like utter dread overcome her.

"Pretty much."

And that would make him the enemy. The BSSA would take him out. The thought of Chris welding a weapon against Steve made her insides turn. She didn't want that ever to happen. The two men were very important to her. Claire knew though that Chris wouldn't hesitate to kill Steve despite her emotional attachment to him if he thought Steve to be dangerous.

"Steve, don't. Don't do this."

Steve turned towards her, expression firm proving that her pleading would fall on deaf ears. "I've already decided."

Her eyes lowered, examining his hand, and upon noticing the wound, she wondered why she hadn't noticed it sooner. The skin was ripped but the bleeding had finally stopped. If there was any pain Steve displayed none. His handsome, mature face was free of any expression – stoic. What happened to him? She didn't know. He no longer seemed boyish, and playful like she remembered. The thought brought about bittersweet feelings. Were any of them the same they were years ago? Definitely no.

"Your hand…" Claire stated concernedly.

He glanced down at his hand and then away. "It's nothing. It'll be gone by tomorrow." He replied nonchalantly.

Some things never did change. He was still macho about his wounds. She would have smiled had not the whole situation been as it was.

"Thanks for saving me." She muttered gratefully.

Steve looked down at her hesitating and she got the feeling he wanted to say something. But the words died and instead he did another shrugging action. Despite the fact that this man in front of her had Steve's face, eyes, hair even _voice_, he wasn't the Steve Burnside she had known. And she was being held captive by him in a base filled with deadly creatures.

"You can have this room." He added before heading out the door and leaving.

Claire scooted back in the bed and leaned her head against the wall. The walls were a forest green color that reminded her of Chris's S.T.A.R.S. uniform. He was probably freaking out by now that she hadn't called and if he called her that she didn't answer or call back. If he had been here, he more than likely would tell her to run away and call for help. Her staying her was dangerous and a huge risk to take. This was something she already knew.

'_Sorry Chris…this is something only I can do.'_

* * *

**Author's note: **Sorry for the late update, unfortunately I think the next chapter will take just as long to write up. Inspiration has been slow for me lately. At any rate, a big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It's kind of a disappointment how many people just favorite/alert a story without even a word or critique. For those that do, you are _great!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Four: Wasting My Hate

_._

"_I hate him. But at least he wasn't weak...until now."_

.

.

Despite it all Steve remembered all too clearly the cold, numbing pain he felt when he first awoke to find himself alone and chained to a lab table. It's not something that's so easily forgettable. He also remembered the first time he heard Wesker's voice; so cool and composed that it pissed him off to no ends. It was safe to say he hated Wesker from the very get go.

Maybe it was the condescending tone. The way he always called Steve, _Steven _in that annoying tone that hinted far too much at mockery. Wesker thought he was better than Steve; he thought he was _God._

And Steve spent all his time hating Wesker. It was more or less what took up his whole days – looking for ways to piss the blond off. Like a sick game of his, Steve did everything in his power to disobey Wesker. Attempting to run away, of course, was one of those ways. But it failed and it was a bitter kind of defeat for him that made his mouth water at the acid taste it invoked.

Or maybe it was because Wesker never paid any attention to him. Despite the tantrums, because that's what they were, that Steve threw Wesker never once did lose his cool. Maybe once but it probably didn't really count because his voice never did falter in its coolness, only reverberated more dangerously than Steve had ever heard it.

He had dared to put his hands on Sherry and it triggered it. Thinking back on it, Steve still regretted it. He hadn't really wanted to kill Sherry, or maybe he had; he wasn't too sure anymore. All he knew was that at the moment he had been frustrated, angry with hate towards himself and everyone else around him. The hate had filled him up to the brim and consumed him.

It was trivial...and stupid. He should have had more self-control.

And it was so easy for him to hate, so hard for him to trust or even worse "love." He scoffed at such a word. _Yeah, right._

The burning sensation in his knuckles finally numbed. The bruised knuckles healed immediately, leaving a small, pinkish, thin scar going across them. Absently, the red haired male ran his fingers across the scar. He sat up from his bed then, sliding off and making his way out the room. He could hear the chatter of female voices, but one of them wasn't a voice he was looking forward to.

A very visible grimace was upon his handsome face when he walked into the more or less "living room" to see _her._ She was still wearing a red dress, slim and hugging her curves along with black heels that made her legs appear longer. It was clearly inappropriate considering her job. Or maybe that was the point.

"What the hell do _you_ want?" He asked with irritation evident in his voice.

* * *

Claire awoke startled, her blue eyes flashing open and taking in her surroundings. She had almost for a brief second forgotten where she was at.

It was cool in her room. The coldness radiating off her skin and making her shudder a bit. She rubbed her exposed arms in an attempt to warm herself. She hadn't really expected to fall asleep but it appeared the ride here had drained her more than she thought.

A soft knock broke her out of her thoughts and she mumbled a "come in," in response. Sherry entered holding what appeared a pair of clothes in her grasp. She walked almost cautiously in, placing the clothes on the drawer near Claire's bed.

"I thought you might want a change of clothes. There's also a bathroom in this room where you can shower and get dressed," she detailed.

"Thank you."

Sherry gave a slight tilt of her head in quiet acknowledgement and went on her way, leaving Claire alone. Claire slipped off her bed, grabbing the spare set of clothes and decided to follow up on Sherry's advice. A quick shower might do her some good after all. She still smelled faintly of dirt and pine from the day before.

The auburn haired woman walked into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. It was small, with a white tiled floor. There was no bath tub available but instead a shower like booth with a closing door. She turned on the hot water, allowing it to warm up as she took off her clothes. It was a bit cold, even more so now that her clothes were off. Shuddering, she slipped into the shower, allowing the warm water to spray onto her face and body.

Her eyes closed briefly as she allowed the warmth of the water to relieve her. The bandage on her arm got soaked, dry blood seeping through. She'd have to change it afterwards.

After about ten minutes, Claire finally stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed and much better. She quickly dressed into the clothes Sherry had offered her and bandaged her arm up again. The short sleeved purple shirt fit snug, with dark red roses decorated on the bottom of the shirt along with green leaves and thorns. The dark blue pants were a bit tight but she managed to fit in them regardless.

Stepping out of her room, Claire walked down the hall, finding Sherry sitting in the living room with a book in hand. The blonde appeared to be completely engrossed in her book, crystal blue eyes darting across the pages. A clatter of sound broke her attention and suddenly she looked up, puzzled. Claire followed Sherry's body with her eyes just as surprised as the blonde opened the door to the lab.

It was safe to say that the person wasn't whom Claire expected.

'Ada Wong,' she thought, not needing to spare a moment in recognition of the woman. She remembered her far too well. She and Leon had run into her back in Raccoon City and they had taken her for dead. Obviously though she wasn't dead.

"Hey hon, where's Red?" Ada asked Sherry; her voice almost playful with hints of mockery. Her eyes flickered over to Claire's giving a pensive pause before looking away. She made no action of recognition but Claire got the feeling she too remembered her.

"He's in his room." Sherry answered, gesturing for Ada to walk in.

And walk in she did. The heels of her black dress shoes made a small 'clanking' sound as she did. Long limbs walked about gracefully in her signature red dress.

In that moment, Steve finally appeared looking more or less displeased.

"What the hell do you want?"

Ada made a small 'tsking' sound, perfectly manicured fingers tapping on her shoulder. Her red lips twitched slightly upwards on the side in a half-smile, not forced but merely in amusement.

"No pleasantries Steven? I can't come for a friendly visit?"

Steve glowered at her in return, clearly not enjoying her mind games. "You and I both know you never show up for nothing."

More amusement flickered in Ada's light eyes. She appeared to enjoy Steve's harsh, strong reaction to her. "Alright Red, I do have business with you."

"I knew that much. What?" He questioned impatient, arms crossed in a closed position.

Everything about his stance made it fairly clear that he disliked the woman. It made Claire wonder how Ada managed to make Steve dislike her to such a degree. Then again Steve didn't appear to hardly like anyone at this point. Sherry, maybe, but even that was questionable.

"Always to the point," she sighed, shaking her head before walking a few steps forward and eyeing the computers in contemplation.

Steve tapped his foot, fidgeting in irritation. He had always been an eager and reckless one though. So this was nothing new to Claire.

"Well?"

Ada pulled out an envelope she had hidden and held it out to Steve. He took it immediately, searching the contents inside. His crimson orbs flickered across the paper, nose scrunching up somewhat before he put it away.

"Do they even expect a reply?" He scoffed.

"Yes and no."

"Wesker is dead."

"That's hardly any concern for them. He's of no consideration for them."

"Great..." Steve muttered sarcastically. His crimson eyes hardened then almost darker despite the light. "I'm not going anywhere. Tell them to get a new lapdog."

Ada smiled a humorless smile. "I thought you might say that. They won't be pleased to hear that."

Steve rolled his eyes, evidently not caring of any consequence. His body shifting, no longer leaning against the wall, tall frame standing upright and straight. It was then he noticed Ada's quick glance at Claire, slightly amused, slightly curious. A low growl escaped his lips and he uncrossed his arms, leaving them hanging at his sides in fists.

"Don't," he warned, voice taking upon a dangerous tone.

Claire hadn't noticed the look and immediately stared at Steve. Her heart jumped slightly in her chest at his voice. He had always been the laid-back, comic relief. Hearing him like this startled her still and she doubted she'd ever get use to it.

Ada clucked her tongue before turning on her heels, appearing to lose interest. "I'm off. Bye Sherry, Red..." She paused, her eyes hesitating on Claire's form before deciding to say nothing and began to walk away.

"If you tell them anything I'll kill you." He threatened, eyes narrowing slightly at the back of Ada's departing form. She paused, making a waving motion with her hand as if to brush away his threats uncaringly and then she was gone out the door.

Steve cursed under his breath and turned to glower at Sherry as if it was her fault. She in response rose one of her light brows, placing her hands on her slim hips.

"What? Don't look at me like that Steve. I had no idea what she wanted."

"Don't let her in next time."

Sherry huffed dramatically and took her place back on the couch with her book in hand. Her lips were pursed in mild irritation.

Claire in turn drew her attention back to Steve. He looked up at her, eyeing her in slightly pensive. She felt her heart jump in her chest again but this time not in fear. Immediately after Steve looked away uninterested. Claire tried not to feel a pang of disappointment at this.

Sherry paused in her reading, eyelashes fluttering as she thought to herself. Afterwards she stood, placing her book down on the coffee table.

"We need to get some groceries now that we're eating for three. Claire and I will go into town."

Claire didn't pretend not to notice the way Steve looked at her cautiously before glancing over at Sherry with a blank stare. Did he really believe she would run away? Didn't he know that she cared about their well-being?

'No he doesn't, that's the whole point,' her mind corrected her.

"Whatever," he grumbled in response, turning away and making his silent way down the hall.

Sherry watched him, lips pursed in contemplation. "Where are you going? You aren't actually going to meet them are you?"

Steve paused, placing his hands so that they now rested near his hips. Claire couldn't see his expression, only able to see the back of his figure. "Yeah," he shrugged one of his broad shoulders then, "I'll be back before dark."

He walked off then leaving Claire and Sherry alone. Claire blinked, gazing at Sherry who was still staring at the spot Steve had just been, a small sigh escaping her small, pouty pink lips. Her eyelashes fluttered down, eyelids somewhat half-lowered in thought.

"Let's get going Claire."

Claire hesitated, fingers slipping up unconsciously to the silver, metal banded material around her neck. Sherry appeared to realize Claire's concern too.

"It won't hurt you unless you try to run away. You should be fine with merely helping me."

Managing a nod, Claire turned back to where Steve had left, wondering where he had gone. It was as if he, Ada and Sherry had been speaking in riddles. They all knew what they were talking about using context clues but Claire did not. It confused her, puzzled her and made her want to know just what was going on. Was Steve putting himself in danger? Were _they_ in danger themselves?

And despite it all she found herself slightly aggravated at the way Ada had addressed Steve. It wasn't formal, completely informal and almost personal. She knew that Ada had betrayed Leon, and held a gun at him point blank several times; he'd told her one day, in a business like voice devoid of any personal attachment he may have once had for the spy. Now Claire found herself wondering if Ada was planning on doing the very same to Steve. Manipulate, and con him into getting what she wanted—whatever that was.

"Claire." Sherry called, seeming to notice Claire's absent-mindedness at the moment.

"How long has Ada been—"The auburn haired woman stopped, brow furrowing slightly as she stumbled to form her concern and curiosity into words.

"You know her." The blonde commented to herself almost amused before continuing, "She works for the Organization. Every now and then they send her to negotiate with Steve. Probably they don't want to deal with his temper and feel she's better suited." She added with a shrug.

'The Organization?' Claire thought to herself.

Was that who Wesker had been working for now? But last time she checked he had been with Tricell and Excella. Then just what was this _Organization?_

"Don't ask." Sherry interrupted Claire's thoughts as if reading her mind. "There are some things even you shouldn't know Claire."

Claire didn't pretend not to be hurt by this statement. "Sherry..."

Sherry shook her head in response, slipping her purse strap across her chest in place. The black purse stood out in contrast to the light blue of her dress.

"Steve will be fine. Let's go before it gets any later."

Despite Claire wanting answers she realized she wouldn't get any more out of Sherry so she half-heartedly agreed.

* * *

It was slight cold inside the other lab. Steve shoved his hands into the pocket of his black jeans. He wasn't really cold, didn't really feel the cold draft, the action serving more as a sign of impatience and irritation. After a few seconds finally one of the scientists showed up, long white coat slightly fluttering behind him.

"We knew you would show up," Dr. Langdon smiled although it lacked any warmth, more so a dry smile.

Steve scoffed, clenching his hands into fists that were hidden. "What do you all want? I thought it was clear that I'm done with the Organization."

Dr. Langdon nodded, knowing all too well that Steve had made it obvious that he no longer wanted to cooperate with them any longer. Maybe it was the influence of Wesker going against the Organization or old surfacing feelings and memories that made him do so Langdon wasn't too sure. But he knew that they couldn't lose Steve's cooperation. And it was them that brought Steve back to life, and it was them that held him in cryogenic stage until the virus fully matured in his body. As far as they were concerned Steve owed them.

It was Steve that was a key to their success. It was Steve that helped them test out the virus and projects. Wesker was nothing to them compared to Steve. Wesker from the start had been disconnected from the Organization, a mere pushing stone in the long run, and once they had their hands on Steve, with the Veronica virus running in his veins, they no longer had a need for Wesker. Not to mention Sherry, with her special antibodies, followed Steve. It was a double gain.

"A few test runs. We need your cooperation Steven."

Steve was tired of everyone called him 'Steven.' Sure, before he hadn't even remembered his own name but for some reason he even in the beginning had hated being called that. It was almost condescending, almost childlike.

"Get bent."

Well, he was somewhat controlling his normal quick-to-curse tongue. It was a small stepping stone.

Langdon sighed heavily, shaking his head a bit as he fixed his glasses. He hated to have to resort to this but...

"It has come to our attention that you are holding a woman in your care."

Immediately, Steve cursed a string of loud curse words that he didn't bother to censor. His eyes narrowing in a glare, lips set in a firm line obviously not pleased. He would kill Ada the next time he saw her.

"And? Are you threatening me? Because really she's nothing to me."

Langdon stared at a set of notes displayed on the desk near him, all scribbled with information. Ada had done her homework. "Really now, I figured Claire Redfield would be of more importance to you considering your history."

The scientist had meant the words in regards to Steve's past back in Rockfort Island when he and Claire had tried to escape. Unfortunately Steve misunderstood that seeing as he had yet to remember that. Instead he could only hear the ring of Chris Redfield's name in his head, the one who managed to kill Wesker.

His hate directed elsewhere, projecting now to the sister of the man who had killed the tyrant he hated. Mistrust filled him as he realized that she probably knew from the start where she stood. Was she there to mock him and laugh in his face? Maybe she was secretly there to plot his demise too, somehow leaking back information to her older brother.

"Chris Redfield," he hissed, clenching his fists even tighter.

"So you didn't know?"

Steve said nothing. His eyes were hard and suddenly darker in the well-lit room. He couldn't think straight at the moment, overwhelmed, feeling his blood boil in his veins. But then a clear thought came into his mind and he turned on his heels quickly.

"Steven, we aren't done with you..."

"Well I'm done here. If you all really need something why not send one of yourselves next time instead of using that conning woman."

The sound of the door slamming behind him was heard and Langdon sighed, running a hand on the back of his neck. He hated being the middle man and so did the others which was why they always sent Ada to do their bidding.

Steve would be back though because in the end that lab belonged to them even if they had abandoned it. With all that mess with Tricell it wasn't safe to be anywhere nowadays. They had to be sneaky and careful with their whereabouts. The last they wanted was the BSAA on their asses. They were too far in their work to readily hand it over.

Another scientist walked in, stopping short behind Langdon. "He left?"

"Yes, looks like we have to take another approach with him. We can't lose him after all."

* * *

Steve paced around the living room of the lab. Sherry hadn't arrived back yet and he could feel his impatience creep up with him. He didn't want to admit he was worried about her being with that _woman_ but he was.

He felt livid. To think the truth had been right under his very nose. He didn't like being fooled even more than he didn't like to be pitied. He didn't like having care thrown on him which was one of the main reasons he disliked Claire; she seemed to radiate care from her, allowing it to touch him and make him feel like he was no longer drowning in lukewarm feelings.

It made him sick.

Finally the doors opened and he could hear the hushed voices of Sherry and Claire exchanging conversation. He felt his fists clench tightly, drawing together, as he spotted their forms now nearer.

Sherry, appearing to notice Steve's shift in mood, drew back making Claire halt too. Her observant eyes watched Steve's expression, reading between the lines.

"Steve, what happened there?" She asked raising a brow.

"Claire Redfield eh?" Steve growled out lowly, all mockery leaving his voice.

Sherry froze immediately in her tracks, body stiffening in horror at the realization. They had told him. He knew now.

"Steve."

"Shut up. You knew too didn't you? Backstabbing_ bitc_—" And the curse words rolled out of his tongue before he could stop them. Even though the hurt across Sherry's face registered in his mind, he couldn't find himself to care.

Claire watched with slightly wide, confused eyes.

Steve made a step towards them, the heel of his boot making a loud sound as he did so. Before he could even reach them though, Sherry stood in front of Claire, blocking his pathway and quietly protecting the older auburn haired woman. He felt betrayal at that moment, blinding him in a whirlwind of hate and anger.

"Don't. You'll only regret it in the end." Sherry reprimanded.

"Don't you realize her brother is the one that killed Wesker? You lost your _uncle_ to them!"

Sherry flinched in response, Steve having attacked her weakness. Wesker in a sense had been an uncle to her. Not by blood, of course. She had clung to him in response to losing her parents, him being the only chain that bound her back to them. And she had been easily won by one act of compassion at her vulnerable stage, even if a false compassion.

"I know," she whispered, eyes glancing down briefly before looking back up to meet his hard gaze. "But there's nothing we can do about that. Killing her and Chris won't change anything."

"It would make me feel better about it."

Claire felt her heart squeeze in her chest at Steve's declaration. It hurt, badly. To have such hate directed towards her. She could see it in his glowing eyes, all the hate pointed at her and it hurt like a thousand prickling needles across her skin. Did he really care about Wesker more than her? The thought left a bad, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach like knives.

Her mouth moved wordless, wanting to call his name but realizing that to him she probably didn't have such a right. And it hurt even more. There hadn't been a day that she hadn't thought about Steve since that day in Antarctica but that haunting look in his eyes made her come undone. Was it her fault that it had lead down to this? Had she been stronger those years back then maybe, just maybe, things would have been different?

The pain must have been evident in her eyes because Steve was looking at her now.

"So are you here to end it all _Claire?_"

The venom in his voice upon calling her name, for the first time in almost seven years, was almost unbearable. Claire shut her eyes tight, shaking her head vigorously.

"I didn't want you to die," she cried out unable to stop herself.

She didn't want Steve to hate her. Was this the price of so desperately wishing for him back? To have him back in this form that hated her so? If so fate truly was cruel...

Steve looked at her blankly, the wheels in his mind turning to process her words. When he finally came to the realization of her words, his expression turned strained, pained almost and he suddenly looked like that same afflicted teenage boy she had first come across. It almost mirrored the expression he had when he had to gun down his father to save her.

"You were there when I _died._" His voice was a murmur now, having lost its hardness. Now instead it was dead, empty.

"Steve I...," Claire started but immediately jumped when she heard him suddenly slam his fist into the wall, making an indent in the wall with his strength. Her heart jumped in her chest, taken off guard by the strong response.

And then his eyes were looking at her dead on with the same expression that haunted her nightmares. An almost betrayed expression as if she had left him for dead and in a sense she had.

Her throat went dry and any words Claire wanted to speak chocked up in her throat. She wanted to plead for his forgiveness even if he didn't remember just yet all the details. She wanted to explain everything to him, wanted to replace the way he was looking at her now with the voice in her head that kept echoing his declaration of love to her before he died.

"Get out of here. Don't come back, and don't dare look for us again. We'll be gone before you can even tell your _precious_ brother about us here." He ordered in a steely voice but the pain was still evident.

He hadn't wanted to die. He hadn't wanted to become what he was now. He'd rather be dead instead of being the monster he was now but unfortunately it was out of his power.

"Steve," Claire called in a soft voice, moving aside from Sherry's protection and trying to go to him, reaching out a gentle, caring hand to him. In a flash, it was slapped away, the force drawing a startled, strangled gasp from her.

"I don't want you here!" Steve yelled, holding a trembling hand to his head. It throbbed badly, and he could feel echoed voices in his head_._

"_My brother has come to save us..."_

"_Hang on..."_

"_W-what are you saying..?"_

"_We'll get out of this _together._"_

They were all her voice. All sweet, caring tones that made him feel like he was drowning again. He took it back. He no longer cared to have her here. Whatever past she had with him he no longer was interested in. He'd rather be oblivious and be numb than deal with the bitter pain his past invoked.

Claire's expression doubled in hurt as she dropped her hand. The urge to reach out to touch him again, comfort him, was pushed down at the realization that it wasn't her comfort that he wanted. Her touch disgusted him even. Her pride felt far too tattered already at the moment to take another rejection that Steve would more than likely throw at her, but her body couldn't move, feet numbed to her position as if she was glued to the spot.

Steve, unable to handle the throbbing pain in his head, gave a quick glance at Sherry as if silently requesting her to deal with Claire and then dashed away to the solitude of his room. The sound of the door slammed shut and locking behind him confirming the conclusion that he didn't want to be disturbed at the moment.

"Claire." Sherry called, looking up at the older woman in concern.

It was over. Even if Claire tried to explain herself Steve wouldn't listen. He would forever blame her for his death and she felt like she too deserved the blame. The guilt had never really vanished from his death, burning his death into her memory along with her failure in preventing such.

"Steve..." She cried out softly the male's voice in vain.

He didn't want her near him. He wanted her dead.

"_I'm glad that I met you...I...I love you...Claire..." _

For the first time in a long while, Claire felt her resolve break and found herself wishing for a past that she could never change.

* * *

**Author's note: **So, consider this a Valentine's gift from me to you-a quite angsty chapter on this supposedly lovey day. Haha. Also I changed things so now that flashbacks are in _italics _and thoughts are like this, 'thoughts here.' It works out better that way I think. Most of this chapter was supposed to be from Steve's POV, hence why the chapter title. I appreciate your patience and feedback!

FYI, the subtitle in italics in the beginning was never in this chapter but is Steve's feelings towards Wesker. I just didn't have any room to put it in the chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **This chapter was a bit of a pain writing I'll admit. It just wouldn't flow. I got frustrated _several_ times and almost gave up. I hope it's enjoyed though. I also want to take this time to thank _Ultimolu_ for their personal advice. It will be taken into much consideration. And, of course, much thanks to everyone else who reviewed.

**

* * *

Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Five: Disposable Heroes

.

"_They need us. That's the only reason we're still alive now."_

_._

_._

Claire hadn't spoken much after Steve's...what to call it actually? _Emotional breakdown_. Although considering the exchange of words between the two, or at least Steve's word's, Sherry didn't blame Claire for being so quiet lately.

A day had passed since that conversation and even though Steve had more or less ordered Claire to leave, she hadn't done that very thing – not yet anyways. At this point, Sherry doubted she would either way. Claire was stubborn.

Sherry pressed her lips together, placing her book down as Claire walked into the living room and sat on the chair near the couch she was sitting on. The auburn haired woman said nothing, merely stared blankly at the wall. It was driving Sherry crazy. She had seen Steve brood throughout the years she'd known him and although it annoyed her, it was to be expected, but _Claire?_

No, she could not and would not deal with a freaking brooding Claire.

"Just give him some time." she said casually, as if commenting on something as simple as the weather and not Steve's sometimes bi-polar mood swings.

Claire looked up, eyebrows slightly furrowed in distress as she bit onto her lower lip. She hadn't known what to believe at the moment. Her hands clutched into tiny fists as she drew her gaze down to them.

"How...but...he hates me." the older woman finished lamely.

Sherry sighed, closing her eyes briefly and rubbing a few fingers to her temple. This all was becoming a real headache for her – way too much drama. But she knew Steve, at least how Steve was now, so she knew he would calm down eventually. Whether or not he would be more civil towards Claire then was yet to be determined.

"Steve just about _hates_ everyone." Sherry felt the need to point out. She then paused before adding, "I'm no different."

If Sherry didn't know any better she would think Claire was looking at her slightly - _jealous?_- besides incredulously. If that wasn't obvious by Claire's light, blue eyes growing wide and her lips slightly parting.

"_You? _But I, I thought..." Claire stammered over her words flabbergasted.

Surely, she had seen the moments in which Sherry and Steve seemed to share an almost understanding. Steve was cold, and hid it behind scowling but it was a feeling; woman's intuition.

"We get along now, but given the chance he remembers I'm sure things would change." Sherry mumbled softly, tilting her head to the side as her shoulders hunched over a bit.

There was something bittersweet about Sherry's voice at that moment. It was as if she accepted whole-heartedly that Steve would act totally different if he got his memories back and she wouldn't matter to him anymore.

"Sherry..."

The blonde in question shook her head, not wanting any empathy or worse pity. She knew where she stood, after all. It wasn't something she bothered denying. She _knew._ She had been there when she heard him crying out in a pitiful voice in his comatose stage. She had been there when he confessed her to that he heard a voice of an older woman in his dreams who had light blue eyes almost similar to hers.

"It doesn't matter." she brushed off Claire's concern, shrugging one of her shoulders.

Claire pursed her lips, thinking about what Sherry had said. "He wouldn't change towards you."

Sherry raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"Because I know Steve, or did know him. He wasn't one to just forget things easily." Claire's shoulders hunched over a bit as she thought about those years back on Rockfort Island.

It hurt to think about it. It was a constant reminder of her failure – her inability to protect someone she had cared about. And although Claire had inherited her brother's pride, it was something much deeper and conflicting than pride alone.

Sherry looked like she might have said something had not the sound of a door slamming open caught their attention. Immediately, she stood up, glancing at the red haired man now walking over to them. Claire followed suit, hesitantly, eyeing Steve's expression. His crimson eyes were glowing, cold and dark, and yet the strain on his face was still there, looking a little out of place.

Claire's throat felt like sandpaper. So dry. She licked her lips, wetting her slightly dry, chapped lips. She had been tempted to say his name but stopped herself.

"I'm leaving." he said simply, brushing past Sherry without so much as a look in Claire's direction. Claire tried not to feel too dejected by this but couldn't find herself unable to. It was as if he preferred to pretend she never even existed.

"What? _Steve!_" Sherry called in exasperation. She turned around to face his departing back, placing her hands on her slim hips.

Steve stopped walking to listen. Was there even a doubt he wouldn't stop? An almost bitter, prickling feeling filled Claire and she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop the sour, almost acidic taste of knowing that someone she had never stopped thinking about since his supposed death, preferred the company of someone else. And that someone didn't even know it.

He said nothing and Sherry sighed, tucking a loose strand of her golden straight hair behind her ear. She looked relieved that at least Steve had stopped in response to her call.

"I need some fresh air." he grumbled in response before continuing to walk off then, leaving the two in absolute silence.

Claire clutched her hands into fists at her side. He was gone. She wondered if he would actually return.

"He'll be back."

Claire found herself agreeing silently with Sherry's words. But if he returned in a better or more hating mood she couldn't tell. It would be too much to think that he would return without having hate towards her though. She reluctantly accepted this...for now.

"I don't want to leave you two." she admitted.

Sherry stared at her, saying nothing. Claire wondered if Sherry actually believed her words. She wasn't a fool not to notice that the young blonde appeared to hold some, slight resentment towards Claire. She didn't blame her though. There hadn't been a time that Claire didn't regret leaving Sherry behind and rushing so foolishly after her very much safe older brother. Maybe things would have been different if she hadn't but then...then she would have never met Steve. And her meeting with him was something she could never find herself regretting albeit how painful it can be at times to remember, especially now.

"We're safe here, Claire."

Claire gave Sherry an incredulous look. "They need us. That's the only reason we're still alive now." Sherry added.

"It shouldn't be like that, Sherry."

"Not everything is a simple as black or white." Sherry brushed away a strand of her hair behind her ears. "There's always a gray area."

_...a gray area._

Claire didn't like to think about gray areas. Her brother raised her to believe in just black or white and nothing in between; simpler terms. But there was a gray area in this case wasn't there? Steve was still alive despite the fact that he was supposed to be dead.

Sherry didn't say anything more but her expression was thoughtful. Claire wondered what she was thinking and was about to question her but the blonde beat her to it.

"To be honest, I don't want Steve to remember. He might forget me in the process." she admitted.

It went back to their earlier conversation and it made Claire feel a bit sad...and hurt. But Claire wasn't self-centered and realized that it was because Sherry cared about Steve that she worried he would forget her if he got his memories back. Would that be the case though? If Steve remembered Claire then he would forget Sherry? Like a cruel tradeoff?

'It could very much be that cruel.' she thought to herself.

Because fate had proven to her to already be cruel enough for him to forget her and hate her.

"I'm sorry." Claire sighed.

Sherry looked away, letting her nails bite into her palms as she pressed them into it. He had to remember. Despite it all, Sherry knew that they shouldn't continue with the works in the base. And it appeared as if the Organization was now aware that they were losing the two. _It's stirring the hives_, she mused.

There was only one thing Sherry could do though.

"Follow me." Sherry ordered and turned on her heels, walking down towards her room.

Claire blinked in surprise but followed after the blonde although a little unsure. She had no reason not to trust Sherry, so she would trust her. She entered Sherry's room hesitantly despite the blonde ushering her to do so. When Sherry flicked on the switch, the room lit up clearly. It was a sky blue color, cool and yet dreamy. Claire looked around, noting little things here and there of unimportance. Just random things. The dressers were all a dark, rich brown that matched with the blue. The room was very simple, and clean, with hardly anything in it.

Sherry dug into her closet and found the one thing she was looking for in the back. Dryly, she wondered if it would still fit Claire. Sherry herself hadn't tried on the item since she had been a little girl. Maybe because it had pained her back then and now older she still couldn't do it. The memories of zombies and being chased down by her own monstrosity of a father and then being infected by that said father wasn't something she wanted to have to be reminded of. Whatever the reason, Sherry tugged on the red vest and held it in her hands. It looked the same as the last time she had worn it albeit not bloody anymore. She had taken it upon herself to clean it afterwards and like the childish little girl she had been, treasured the vest as if it had been an heirloom.

It was quite foolish now that she thought about it.

Claire caught her breath when she spotted the old vest she had given to Sherry when they had first met. It looked in the same condition, unworn by time. She thought of Raccoon City and Leon, and Sherry as they ran through the sewers to their escape on the railroad tracks. It had never crossed her mind that Sherry would keep the vest till this day. The idea made her stomach stir even more at the fact that Claire had left Sherry. It was touching and sweet and, she instantly felt just as terrible for her actions all the more.

"Sherry..." she whispered in a soft voice, feeling her throat go dry as the emotions caught up with her.

She should have taken better care of Sherry. She should have protected her from Wesker. There were so many 'should haves.'

Sherry said nothing and merely held out the vest for Claire to take. Claire took the vest gingerly and allowed her fingers to press into the slightly rough denim material. It was pressed and unwrinkled, taken in the best care despite its age. Claire licked her lips as she felt a wave of nostalgia hit her.

"I don't know what you wore when you met Steve but I'm assuming it looked somewhat similar to this. Maybe...maybe dressing like you had when you two met might stir _something. _I don't know. That's all I could think of." She blabbed, brushing her hair back again slightly nervous.

It felt like she was wearing her heart on her sleeve or something. By showing Claire she had kept Claire's vest showed how much she had cared for the auburn haired woman. And care she had—only withering in time due to hopelessness of the situation.

The blonde stopped when she felt arms around her, pressing her against a not-so flat chest. It's a bit uncomfortable due to her cheek being almost pressed into Claire's much developed breasts, but it was _warm._ Sherry couldn't remember the last time she had been embraced; perhaps, when she was eight and by her mother alone. It made her feel not so alone and warm because it had been too long since she had been shown affection. A part of her wanted to push Claire away angrily, yell at her and ask why she had been left behind by her and demand answers she never got as a child. And she was about to, honestly, she was but then—

"I'm sorry, Sherry."

Claire's fingers brushed through Sherry's thin strands of hair in a soothing motion. Sherry knew what Claire was apologizing for; Claire knew what she had done wrong. And Sherry wanted to hate Claire all the more but she couldn't—she just _couldn't, _just like Steve couldn't deep down. Because sincerity rung in Claire's voice so clearly; she wasn't apologizing just to apologize or because she felt like she should, it was because she _wanted_ to.

So, instead of pushing her away, Sherry clung onto Claire and felt like she was twelve all over again—waiting, and waiting. And she couldn't help thinking about the thoughts that had plagued her when she had been in the Government's care all alone.

'She came back...'

* * *

Claire didn't know what to feel as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, her upper half of her body dressed in a black short sleeved shirt and the red vest of her past on top. It looked strange, and felt even stranger. The vest still fit, although the denim pressed forward more than it did before due to the increase in her bust size. But the reality of it was that it still _fit._

It made her feel strangely nostalgic again; like she was looking in the mirror of her past life, nineteen and clueless again to the dangers out there. Sherry let her borrow a brown belt she had and boots to make the outfit complete and surprisingly overall it did look similar to what she wore in Rockfort. Except for the words on the back of the vest saying "Made in Heaven" instead of "Let me Live" but that couldn't be helped.

The auburn haired woman turned to see Sherry watching her almost wistfully. Her expression was pensive once again and Claire can't help but wonder what was rummaging through the young blonde's mind. Claire turned back to the mirror, giving a final glance and she couldn't help but shake off the feelings of...anxiousness was it? It was silly, really because she felt like a teenage girl getting ready for a first date at that moment. Waiting for approval, waiting for a reaction...

"Expect the worst."

Claire blinked, breaking out of her trance to give Sherry a surprised look. Sherry looked slightly flustered then as she played with her hair. "I mean...not to be pessimistic but there's always that chance, you know."

And Claire did know. She nodded in silent agreement and laid her hands flat on the denim vest, brushing away any lent. "I'll hope for the best."

It felt different between Claire and Sherry at the moment. It was as if the barriers were no longer there. Claire felt like she owed Sherry more than just a simple, sincere apology but realized that it was best to leave it at that. She mused on things instead; things that they would do together once she got Sherry and Steve to leave the base together. Simple things like go to amusement parks, watch movies together, go to the beach; simple, trivial things that didn't matter before.

Claire took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them she felt she was ready.

* * *

Steve slammed his fist into a tree, smashing it. The poor tree bent and broke in half miserably with the brute force of his anger. He hadn't felt this angry since Wesker was alive, and although his knuckles burn from cuts and bruises from his repeatedly punches he ignored the light pain. He wasn't weak; he could handle simple pain.

It was cool and dark outside although he didn't care to notice anything else. Day and night was something of unimportance to him. Dates even less. He hardly knew the date anymore. It didn't really matter either way. He wasn't human. He didn't worry about _stupid_ things like dates, or what to wear, or weather—stupid, trivial things like that.

But he liked being outdoors surprisingly. He always hated being trapped indoors seeing as for the first few months in the Organizations' care they had all but imprisoned him out of distrust.

The air was crisp and slightly cool but not enough for Steve to even feel cool. He always felt the medium with the virus, neither too cool nor too warm. With a groan, the red haired male slumped against one of the grand trees, pressing his back against the hard bark. His head wouldn't stop throbbing and it was both annoying and painful.

"_Hey, those are mine. Give them to me."_

"Fuck." he growled, holding a hand to his head in pain.

He hated that voice.

"_The name is Claire, Claire Redfield."_

"I know damnit! I know!" He all but yelled, turning to slam another fist into a tree.

He knew the voice in his head was Claire, the very same Claire he was holding back in the base; the very same Claire who appeared to have known him as a human and been there when he died as well as the very same Claire whose brother had killed Wesker. What he didn't know was why _her_ voice dominated over others. Why not his father, or mother or _anyone the hell else?_

"_...well get out of this together...ether...ether.."_

Another slam. Another tree fallen. Again and again until he was left panting heavily from exertion, the knuckles of his right hand scarred and overflowing with blood.

_Dispose of her_, a cold, cruel voice ordered him.

A part of him wanted to listen to it too but another, a more dominate part, denied the request. It felt like his will was split in two; two different directions, two opposites and he didn't know which was which anymore. Was it the _human_ part of him?

'It doesn't matter.'

He couldn't stay here forever and realized he had to do something. He didn't like waiting and waiting; he was more of an action type person. He hated waiting.

With his hands shoved in the pockets of his uniform pants, Steve walked back to the base. He took his time though, not in any rush. Just because he was impatient didn't mean he ran everywhere. Now that was just too eager for his tastes, and desperate.

Once he finally reached the base, he didn't hesitate in opening the front door with his key and entering. It was quiet and although that was normal it bothered him. His lips parted to call Sherry's name but he stopped himself, scowling instead. He didn't have to give her answers or tell her when he got back; it wasn't like she was his _damn_ mother or something.

The burning sensation on his knuckles increased and he sighed, eyeing the damage. It looked ugly but it would heal luckily due to his ability to heal. Distractedly, the male swept his tongue across his knuckles, cleaning it of any blood. He didn't think too much about the action, for him it was nature. The taste of blood didn't sicken him either despite the strong iron taste.

There was a clatter of quiet footsteps then and Steve looked up immediately, eyes slightly narrowed in concentration. He expected Sherry; in fact he in all honestly was hoping it was Sherry despite it all. If not Sherry in his bad mood he'd probably—

But he couldn't finish that sentence because the person who appeared was indeed not Sherry. Claire walked forward stopping at a distance from him. Her blue eyes darted up to met his, firmly, unyielding and he found himself mimicing her action because at that moment there was such _familiarity._ She had changed into another outfit, trivially, and yet he couldn't stare away, his body frozen in spot.

It wasn't even just because she looked _good. _It was something much more than that. Those clothes...symbolized something, something important.

"_My name is Claire, Claire Redfield."_

"_Claire huh? Nice. I'll remember that."_

...A meeting—their very first meeting.

"Steve?"

Steve broke out of his trance, willing the flashes of random, disoriented memories to stop. She was looking at him concerned and yet eager with hints of anxiousness. And he felt like a _fucking_ teenager—or something. He shouldn't be affected like this by a simple human woman. He just shouldn't—_couldn't._

"Damnit." he cursed under his breath, holding a hand to his head in pain. God, why wouldn't the pain stop? He wanted it to stop and go away _goddamit!_

A gentle, warm touch came upon his hand. "Steve, what's wrong?"

He looked up and probably growled because her eyes widened slightly and she immediately dropped her hand away. Up close and actually paying attention this time around, he could see the hurt flicker through her bright eyes, so openly, so unguarded that it took him by surprise. She didn't bother to hide her emotions; they flew freely.

"Sorry." she whispered, holding her hand to her chest as if to prevent herself from reaching out to touch him. It was strange. Normally people were afraid to touch him or didn't care to touch him but she so freely did it. And there never was fear in her eyes when she looked at him, _never._

Steve didn't know why he did it. Maybe it was the stubborn cry for something other than apathy, or pulls of past memories flowing through him, or the disoriented state of mind he felt at that moment. But the next thing he knew was that his hands moved on his own, grasping the warm, smooth and soft cheeks of her face and he was tugging her forward. She released a surprised gasp and then his lips covered hers. And it felt _right. _God, did it feel right.

Surprisingly she didn't put up any resistance. She was still, like a statue. But the kiss was nothing too intimate or passionate; merely the pressing of lips together. And her lips were warm, soft and full underneath his and he could feel slight trembles running up her body but he doubted it was out of fear. He didn't feel fear coming off her; no, it was trembles of strong emotions running amok.

He pulled away a bit before pressing their lips together again, firmly and gave an experimental nip on her bottom lip. She gave another gasp in surprise and he found himself smirking at the reaction. But then like every euphoria state, the feeling died down leaving only realization.

Steve pulled back sharply as if he had been burned. His eyebrows furrowed down in irritation and he silently cursed his body for acting on its own.

Claire's eyelashes fluttered dazedly and she placed her fingertips up to her lips in surprise, and maybe slight awe. "Steve...did you just—"

But she didn't get to finish because immediately Steve cut her off, "_No!_ What the hell is _wrong _with me?" He covered his face in frustration and anger, cursing repeatedly under his breath.

Why had he kissed her like that? He didn't know and honestly he didn't think he wanted to know.

When he looked up, she was looking at him almost eagerly and with elation as if she had realized something. She became more confident then and reached out to take his arm. The touch instantly burned his skin, not so much as painfully but pleasantly. Before he knew what he was doing, he had swung his arm away and she flew back by the force, slamming against the wall. It was painful probably by the way she winced.

"Don't _touch_ me. Don't..." He held a hand to his head as the throbbing returned. Only one thought came to his mind then: if he killed her the pain would stop.

Claire groaned and rubbed a hand to her head, stiffening when Steve began to slowly approach her. His eyes...no, something definitely wasn't right here.

"Steve." she breathed his name, gasping in shock when he wrapped his hands around her neck. It hurt and immediately she felt the circulation of air cut off in her body. Even through struggling, she couldn't get him off. He truly intended to kill her.

But she didn't want to die; she couldn't die yet—so, she continued to struggle and struggle even though her head began to feel light headed and her energy drained slowly. Everything was spinning. Suddenly then, the hands were released and Steve's body fell flat on her. Claire gasped for breath, panting heavily and feeling the air rush back into her body.

She looked up to see Sherry holding something like a needle in her grasp and her expression looked regretful. Claire looked back down at the now unconscious Steve in her lap. Her neck felt like someone had rope burned it.

One step forward...and yet one step back.

* * *

**A/N: **Ack. For some reason I liked the last chapter more than this one; I don't know. It isn't too bad though right? *facepalm* Let's just hope the next chapter isn't so much as a pain to write as this one was. Really... So, yes, review, please?

Chapter notes::

_1.) Claire's red "Made in Heaven" vest._

-Yes, I know in RE2 the vest is actually a hot pink color but I decided to follow the color scheme of the Darkside Chronicles and change it to red because it worked better that way in this story.

2.) _'She came back.'_

-In Sherry's epilogue in RE3, it is said that Sherry (under the Government's care) believes Claire will come back and find her no matter what.

3.) "Made in Heaven" instead of "Let me Live."

-Refers to the fact that Claire's vest in Code Veronica read "Let Me Live" while her vest in RE2 read "Made in Heaven."

4.) "_Any dialogue in italics like this."_

-Mostly actual dialogue I remember from RE:CV. Some might be tweaked a little but the idea is still the same.


	6. Chapter 6

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Six: To Live Is To Die

_._

_"__Even if I do remember everything, it won't change anything. I'm still who I am now – infected.__"_

.

It felt like he was floating. He could see snippets of images flashing past his eyes, colorful and vibrant. The voices in them were even louder, more clearer. It felt like his heart was pounding heavily in his head. _Ba-dump!_

"_How pathetic. Down on your knees like the weakling that you are. Even with the virus running in your veins you are nothing against me. Did you honestly believe you could overpower me? Laughable Steven."_

Steve tossed in his sleep, sweat dripping down his forehead as his face contorted into a painful expression. His hands clenched into fists, gripping the sheets of his bed underneath him. The laughing and taunting continued in his head, over and over again.

The words _pathetic_ and _useless_ and _weakling_ repeated in his mind, ringing loud and clear. Along came the image of golden hair and a sneering face with dark sunglasses veiling their eyes. The image made the blood in Steve's body boil in anger. Why...why couldn't _that_ person just leave him the hell alone? Even in death, _that_ person still belittled Steve in his _own_ mind.

With a groan, the redhead's eyes flickered open, crimson eyes staring up blankly at the ceiling. When he realized where his thoughts had been, he growled and slammed a fist into the nearby table. The action drew a loud cracking sound as the smooth redwood split, but he could care less about the damage.

"Fucking Wesker," he grumbled letting himself fall back into the comfort of his pillows.

He wasn't useless. He wasn't pathetic either.

Steve lifted his left hand up, staring at his palm absently. About a year or so back he had gotten a bad long mark across his palm where the glass had sliced a deep, thin line across the skin. It had looked so nasty back then. The gash had cut straight from his middle finger and down to his wrist in an almost straight line. Now though, as he looked at that same palm he saw that the skin was clear and unblemished. No one would have ever guessed he had been bleeding badly at the time. Most of his face had taken the damage from being slammed into the glass desk, albeit, that healed too.

If here were to be human, the marks would have stayed forever.

He closed his eyes then and another flash of memory came to his mind. A memory of a tentacle piercing his stomach, and the raw, burning pain that came to him immediately as it pierced through his skin and body organs.

"_Steve!"_

He could see her almost so clearly through closed eyelids. She was much younger in his mind; probably approaching barely early twenties. Her eyes were clear and blue like the open ocean, and wide and pained.

"_No, you're coming with us," her voice argued slightly broken and pained._

Steve sat up then and lifted up his black militia top. He looked down at his stomach and spotted the clear skin of his slightly tanned stomach. There was no scar and he felt stupid for even thinking there would be. His fingertips let the top drop and he gave an annoyed look.

Another thought came to his mind then almost immediately like a flashbulb moment of sorts.

'She hadn't wanted me to die.'

And he had tried to just kill her not too long ago.

It wasn't very often Steve Burnside felt guilt, but if he were to be honest with himself, he would say he felt it at that particular moment. And it wasn't just because Claire was a woman. It was more than that - much more.

'But her brother was the one that...' He cut his thoughts off then with a frustrated sigh.

Wasn't it better off this way? Wesker was dead; that was all that mattered.

'Too bad the members of the Organization aren't dead too.' Steve thought dryly.

He couldn't have expected _all_ his problems to go away so easily. And the Organization had made it almost very clear in the past that Steve was a priority to them. They needed him to do their deeds. He knew this all too well. But in all honesty, he was sick and tired of it all. He was tired of being an experiment, a _weapon_, something always _used_.

The redhead tossed to his side, fingers trailing up to his lips then. They still felt _warm_. He could still taste the lingering taste of Claire's lips on his. He hadn't kissed a girl in years now; at least not that he remembered. Such a human display of affection was long gone for him. He wasn't human; he knew _that_ much. But he couldn't help but wonder how natural it had felt to kiss her. Any affection towards Sherry felt slightly awkward, and leaned more towards that of sibling like than anything else. With Claire it was different.

And Claire hadn't pulled away from the kiss either. He smirked at this before rubbing a hand to his neck. It itched from where he assumed Sherry had injected the tranquilizer into him. That annoyed him, but he guessed he couldn't blame her too much. When he lost his temper, he did tend to lose his reason as well.

It didn't mean he wasn't still irritated at Sherry for pulling such a stunt on him, however.

'You should be irritated at yourself for almost killing a defenseless woman.' His reason argued with him.

He found himself unable to disagree.

* * *

Claire was the type to always forgive people. It wasn't in her nature to hold grudges. Grudges only trapped a person in hate, allowing them to be consumed by the feeling. But when Sherry apologized on Steve's behalf, Claire had merely told her there was nothing to apologize for. She didn't need to _forgive_ Steve; there was nothing to forgive.

And she could never hate him either.

How could she hate him? How could she hate him when all he did when they had been together was protect her and stand by her side? It wasn't possible.

Claire rubbed a hand to her neck, feeling the tingly burning sensation still run across her skin. It wasn't so bad now. Sherry had given her some gel to assuage the pain, and it helped for the most part. Claire wasn't a strange to pain either, so it wasn't too bad. She had dealt with worse pain before.

The auburn haired woman released a small sigh before looking at the forest green walls of her room. It was lit up with the small lamp on the nearby wooden desk by her bed. She sat with her back leaning against the wooden bed frame, expressive pensive. She wetted her lips then, almost instantly remembering how Steve had kissed her just yesterday. She'd be lying if she said it hadn't been enjoyable. But she'd also be lying if she said that she had entertained romantic thoughts towards Steve during the time they had been together. There hadn't been any time for such thoughts for her. They had been running away with danger on their heels every second of their time together. So, it was a shock to her when Steve had confessed to having such feelings towards her seconds before his 'death.' It had made his death all the more painful though.

He had _loved_ her – and _died_ for her. How could she ever repay him for that?

Claire had lived all those years wondering every now and then what would have happened if they had survived the outbreak together. Would they have ended up dating eventually?

'Probably.' She mused to herself absently.

Was it still possible he had romantic feelings towards her? Wasn't that what that kiss proved? That he was remembering. The thought made a warm feeling spread throughout her body. But it wasn't enough obviously from the way he had tried to strangle her afterwards. He was still suffering. He was still in pain.

With a determined mind set, Claire slipped off her bed and headed out the door. It was there in the hallways she ran into Sherry. The blonde was looking up at her with slightly wide, surprised blue eyes. Claire wasn't sure what expression she was displaying but it must have been enough to take Sherry off guard.

"Claire, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to see Steve," she answered without hesitation.

If possible, Sherry's eyes widened even more and it looked like she was about to choke on her own spit at Claire's bluntness. She gaped a bit, lips moving wordlessly before she finally snapped out of it. "You've got to be kidding me," the blonde said incredulously.

Claire shook her head, expression serious. "No, I'm being serious. We...have to talk about this." Absently, her fingers traced the skin on her neck without even thinking about the action itself. Sherry spotted the action though, and her light brows furrowed.

"Claire, I know it's hard but you can't just force Steve to remember. He needs to remember on his own account."

"I know that," Claire argued, "It isn't just about that."

Sherry took a deep breath then, closing her eyes briefly as she did so. Afterwards, she opened her eyes and looked at Claire seriously, pink lips pursed slightly. "Just...just be care, okay?" she mumbled softly, before walking past Claire to what Claire assumed was heading toward the living room.

Claire stopped and turned, watching Sherry leave with a surprised expression. She wasn't entirely sure if Sherry meant for her to be careful of Steve possibly attacking her or something else all together.

'It could be him. She wants you to not hurt him.' She thought to herself.

Claire didn't want to hurt him either. She didn't. She just wanted all of them to escape together. She didn't want Steve and Sherry living the life they were now. They deserved so much more.

The auburn haired woman continued her walk down the hallway then. Her footsteps were soft in the quietness of the base. When she finally came across Steve's door, she paused, hesitating. She wasn't scared of him, really. What she was scared of was—

What _was_ she scared of? Possibly finding out that Steve didn't care about her anymore? That he might never truly remember her? That he might choose the Organization over her?

It was all of these that made her anxious.

She clutched her hands together on the door, bowing her head a bit as she took a deep breath. She couldn't run away from this. She had to know. If she didn't try anything then she would never know. And Claire was anything but someone who ran away from things. She faced everything head-on.

Finally, Claire set herself back onto her heels, knocking on the door firmly, unafraid. There was a pause and for a second she thought Steve wouldn't bother to answer, but seconds later the door was unlocked and opened. Crimson irises stared down at her, a dark brow furrowed as well. Claire felt herself swallow briefly.

"What are you doing here?" He asked curtly, brow still furrowed. She didn't see his hand hidden behind the door clenching tightly onto the knob as if it were his lifeline.

This was stupid, and reckless, and really, really _impulsive_ she knew. She would later blame it on her inherited brother's impulsiveness and the Redfield blood running in her veins.

Claire moved then without reluctance. The movement caught Steve off guard, so he was unable to ward her away before it was too late.

He was stiff; so, very stiff in her grasp. And the material of his black militia uniform was tough and felt like leather underneath her fingertips and smelled as such. He wore no cologne but he smelled like pine with hints of smoke. She didn't remember having to lean up to reach his face before either. He was far taller than he had been when he was only seventeen going on eighteen.

And even though her lips were pressed against his, he made no move to push her away or to return the action.

Her eyelashes were fluttering slightly underneath her closed eyelids so she couldn't see the face he was making. A bit of her wanted to open her eyes to watch his expression but the other told her it would cheapen the beauty of the kiss if she did. She kissed with closed eyes, not opened ones.

When Claire made an attempt to pull away, eyelashes fluttering open, Steve pulled her back. She made a small sound of surprise before his lips caught the rest of the sound. This time the kiss was far more different than the first one or even the second one. It was as if both of them were trying to say everything they couldn't in words through the kiss. The feelings fumbled and rushed through, strong and clear.

Claire tightened her hold on his uniform. She felt light-headed. He wasn't kissing her as if she was made out of glass, but it wasn't unpleasant nonetheless. Her nails dug into his shirt when she felt his tongue trace the outline of her lower lips, smoothly and she felt delicious shivers run up her body from the sensation.

Of course, it had to be at that moment that his reason appeared to catch up with him _again_.

Claire sighed slightly exasperated as Steve pulled away, stumbling back and glaring at the ground then.

"You planned this," he said in an accusing tone that was a tad bitter.

Claire shook her head, licking her lips a bit and noticing how Steve glanced at them briefly as she did so. It made her smile to herself.

"Steve, I always cared about you. I didn't want what happened to you to happen. I would have prevented it if I could."

"It's a little too late for that."

"No, it's not."

Steve blinked then, a brow rising. "Oh, how do you suppose?" He said in a mocking like tone.

"You're still here," she answered.

"But I might as well be dead; I wish I were!" He growled, turning around so that his back was to Claire. He glared at the nothingness in front of him, refusing to meet her gaze or even bother anymore with the subject.

Claire wouldn't have that though. She immediately walked over until she was in front of him, staring up at him dead on. Steve glared down at her, fists clenched at his sides. They were slightly shaking she noticed.

"Please don't say that," she pleaded. Her voice was soft despite how angry she was for him to say such a thing. It hurt her more than made her angry to hear him say that he wished he was dead though.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I'm so glad you're alive still. I wished almost everyday that you would be!"

His resolve crumbled after this.

* * *

Sherry bit her lip as she waited in the living room. She lost count of how long she counted in her head, trying to distract herself from her worry. Claire was talking to Steve, and Sherry had no idea how their conversation was turning out. Was it going bad? Was it going actually good? She didn't know. She _wanted_ to know.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, Sherry stood up and made her way down the empty hallway. She approached Steve's door and was surprised to find it halfway opened. Bending a little, the blonde peeked in curiously and almost jumped in shock at what she saw.

They were _kissing_. Steve and Claire were kissing each other. And it certainly didn't look forced that was for sure.

* * *

Claire wasn't sure how but they ended up kissing again. After getting the cold shoulder for so long, it was a definite change for her to be on the receiving end of affection from him. Her heart felt like it was about to jump out of her chest.

He pulled away to allow them to catch their breaths and she opened her eyes dazedly to look into his. She could see the dark pupils of his eyes at that moment, so close and bright. She could also see the lightness of the red irises. And at that moment, she could almost see the same expression that was always in his eyes when he looked at her before: the earnestness and honesty, so readable and viewable. It was almost enough to make her cry.

She did the next best thing instead. She pulled him down for another breathtaking kiss. He returned it almost immediately, strong arms wrapping around her waist to pull her close enough to smell everything that made up Steve Burnside.

It had been long since Claire had felt such a strong reaction from a simple kiss. Maybe the long wait made it taste all the sweeter, like taking a bite of an apple that you've been denied for so long.

"_I...I love you..." _With the flicker of a past memory, Steve pulled away then, breathing slower than Claire's suddenly raced breaths.

She expected him to look angry, maybe even irritated then, but instead he looked almost defeated.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, running a few fingers through his messy red strands of hair.

"Why not?" Claire argued stubbornly, placing her hands on her hips.

"I'm not _him _anymore, Claire."

Her name... Throughout the whole week she'd been here she hadn't heard him call her name without disgust or anger or even bitterness. It was spoken sadly this time.

"What...do you mean, Steve?"

Steve shook his head, looking away so that he could stare at the wall. "Even if I do remember everything, it won't change anything. I'm still who I am now – _infected_."

Claire looked like she was about to argue with him but then he looked straight at the door, crossing his arms with a raised brow. It made Claire turn just in time to hear Sherry squeak in surprise and scuttle backwards. "I know you're there Sherry," he said, glancing in her direction.

The blonde sighed and held the door more open so that her form was visible. She looked a little embarrassed and even guilty at being caught spying. Claire wanted to laugh at the scene but held her amusement back.

"I was worried." Sherry explained, giving a nonchalant shrug that made Steve roll his eyes.

"Nosy brat," he insulted half-heartedly. Suddenly, he stiffened and looked up immediately with narrowed eyes. Before Claire or even Sherry could question him, he was out the door and heading past the hallway.

Claire quickly followed after him, calling his name all the while Sherry scampered after the two. When the two arrived in the living room, they stopped abruptly. Steve was glaring at the man ahead of them who had oh-so-easily let himself in rudely.

"Dr. Langdon." Sherry called with surprise evident both in her voice and face. She hadn't seen him in weeks now. She never expected him to make a surprise visit with them at the base.

Langdon smiled a humorless smile all the while Steve glowered at him.

"What the hell do you want?" Steve demanded with caution that he didn't try to conceal.

"Those test runs we mentioned earlier. It's time you pay up, Steven or else."

"Or else what?" The redhead pressed, eyes narrowing. He didn't like being threatened. In fact, he hated being threatened. He had been threatened enough in the past by others that he was at his limit now. They were never empty threats either.

Langdon sighed before waving a hand and suddenly two other men who had been hidden held needles with a strange looking liquid inside next to Sherry's and Claire's neck. The two women tensed in surprise, caught off guard by the ambush but both held still, unsure of what to expect. When Steve spotted the color of the liquid, his eyes widened partially before he turned back to Langdon with a curse.

"You're a damn coward."

Another humorless, cool smile came across the scientist's face. "You brought this upon yourself, Steven. If you had listened to us before without stubbornness it wouldn't have to come down to this. So what now? Will you still say no and deal with the repercussions of these two lovely ladies being infected?"

Claire gaped in horror as she realized then what the injections at their neck contained - the virus. "Steve," she called the redhead's name.

He looked at her briefly and then met Sherry's calm expression but could see the lingering fear in her eyes. She knew first hand what the virus did inside your system. It was a pain unimaginable that she didn't want to ever have to face again.

"Fine." Steve agreed, eyes glancing back over to Langdon. When the other scientists didn't drop their position, he glowered at them. "Why aren't they backing down?"

"We can't take your word for it. They'll be called off when you do what you need to do though, I assure you."

"And I'm supposed to trust your word for it?"

"We keep our word. And we aren't stupid enough to dispose of people that are of importance to you if you follow our demands. They'll be useful to make certain your obedience continues."

Steve scoffed at this but realized the reasoning in Langdon's words. As long as Claire and Sherry were within reach, the Organization would continue to use them so that Steve would follow their demands. He knew their game all too well. Brushing the thoughts away, the redhead pushed past Langdon and walked towards the exit of the base. Langdon followed silently.

"Steve, come back okay?" Sherry called then, voice sounding slightly strained.

Steve paused, looking down as he realized the true meaning behind her words. She knew he wouldn't run off without them; what she meant was for him to come back _alive_. He didn't know how much she knew about the tests the Organization put him through but she obviously knew enough. He always came back to the base with bloody gashes that hadn't healed just yet or broken arms and to some extremes a hole through the stomach. He never came back without being completely battered or badly injured.

The experiments he faced were getting stronger each and every time he noted. One day, the experiment just might be enough to kill him. He thought that was maybe what they were aiming for anyways.

Steve was not a failed experiment. All the others he defeated were.

He didn't like making promises he couldn't keep. And Steve wasn't very optimistic to begin with either. So instead of assuring Sherry that he would be fine, he just kept walking. It was easier that way.

* * *

**A/N: **What's this – some actual _romance_? Can I also say this chapter was super hard to write once again? Guh. I will finish this story even if it kills me though. D:

Special thanks to: _GalnKay, Natureboy3_, _Sheenah267_, _The Tainted Knight_, _Afro Spirit_, _Drops of Jupiter_, and _DreamBeamz_ for reviewing! If it hadn't been for your lovely reviewers I probably wouldn't have gotten this chapter done. It was super painfully _hard_ to get started. So thank you, thank you!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Not much left to say here, but 'hello!' to new reviewers. And special thanks to my reviewers: _Sheenah267_, _Natureboy3_, _GalnKay_, _Meandor711_, _Misery's-Toll_, _Dragonachu_. Your lovely reviews always make my day. n.n I can't thank you enough for the support in this story. Your reviews certainly make getting over any possible writer's block possible.

Oh, and I have a new website to host all my fanfictions. You can find the link on my profile. Check it out~

* * *

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Seven: Of Wolf and Man

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"_It's times like this I wonder if I'm just like those 'things' and not a man at all..."_

.

.

Steve followed Langdon back all the way to their main base. The drive there wasn't too pleasant considering his annoyed nerves. He made it completely obvious that he wasn't pleased with this development. Langdon either ignored or paid no heed to Steve's obvious scoffing here and there.

When they finally got to the base, all the other scientists eyed Steve cautiously, noting the displeasure across his youthful face. His eyes narrowed and he mentally dared any of them to try to say anything. They didn't, of course, and it was a small sort of satisfaction to him. In the end, _he_ was the one with strength and they were just measly, simple humans.

Langdon and Steve went through several lab doors, each time the scientist using his identification card to gain access to another room. But after about the third door, Steve was beyond annoyed and tired for that matter. He just wanted to get this thing over and done with. Then he could focus on other things like...say a certain auburn haired woman.

'Stop being lovesick over that woman, stupid,' he chided himself, mentally rolling his eyes at the sarcastic tone in his head.

"How much longer?" Steve demanded although it ended up sounding borderline on a whine. He was tired, damn it.

Langdon didn't respond but before Steve could get even more irritated by this, they arrived in a room. It had one way mirrors in them that appeared to be made out of plastic. They had learned the last time that the B.O.W.s were prone to slamming through the mirrors once they noticed them.

Steve glanced up ahead at the capsule sealed in the other room. He tried to see past the blurriness of water and bubbles to see the creature inside floating comatose. When he did get a clear shot, he furrowed his brows in a mixture of disgust and slight horror. The thing looked like a mixture of both human and animal.

"I'm guessing this isn't another overgrown frog," he muttered.

Langdon began tying on the small keypad of the computer system in the room. His fingertips clicking on the keys making a small 'click' sound as he did so. The tall-tale sign of his lips twitching ever-so-slightly was the only admission that he heard Steve's small joke.

"No, this is something else all together. We realized with the last failed experiments that even with strength they would fall at our hands because they lack something very important that we have: the ability to learn. We humans can overcome obstacles not with strength alone but our ability to adapt and learn and come up with a strategic plan. We have molded our new B.O.W. with this." The scientist detailed, pushing back the middle frame of his glasses back on his nose.

Steve dared another glance at the creature. "So, I'm fighting an overgrown monkey mixed with a tyrant?" He asked blandly.

Langdon didn't bother to reply and in all honesty Steve didn't expect him to either. His comments mostly were for his benefit anyways. The redhead eyed the B.O.W. The water in the capsule began to slowly diminish. When it was all gone, the scientist gave Steve a pointed look. In response, he rolled his eyes and walked through the metal door leading into the next room.

"Let's get this over with," he grumbled under his breath, flexing and cracking his fingers.

When he entered the room, hearing the metal door click in place and lock behind him, he immediately expected the B.O.W. to attack him. Surprise attacks were something he was used to by now. The experiments knew nothing more than to kill. He would be stupid to expect no less. So, considering this, it was a surprise when Steve entered the same room with the experiment that it didn't immediately attack or move at all actually. Instead it stood still staring at him, watching him with black beady eyes; observant black beady eyes.

The rough material of Steve's black fingerless gloves felt warm against his hands. He tugged on his right one absently, a little unnerved by the lack of instant movement. It wasn't too long before his impatience got the best out of him and he was charging in himself making the very first move. His right fist swung back sharply and propelled forward towards the B.O.W. as quick as the strike of a cobra. It staggered backwards and Steve added an extra flying kick, swinging his right foot upwards and smacking it across the head of the B.O.W. A flash of grayish fur flew backwards as it slammed against the wall. Steve smiled smugly at this, flicking his right wrist.

The experiment got up slowly, eyeing him again slowly, eyes darting back and forth. Once again, Steve charged in without thought. His foot swung upwards again, copying his last move only to find it caught in the big hands of the B.O.W. Before he even had time to process what was happening, he was flung backwards, knees skidding across the smooth floor as he caught himself.

Shock filled him when he finally realized that his own attack had been not only predicted ahead of time but so easily reflected. Irritation bubbled inside him as he got quickly to his feet and charged once again with a flurry of punches and swinging kicks, repeating and mixing the two. Each and every one was dodged or blocked until one strong, firm punch was directed across his face in retaliation.

The redhead staggered backwards at a distance taken off guard. When he felt something warm and wet near his lips, he rubbed it away with the knuckles of his right gloved hand. He noted how the black material of his gloves became slightly stained with the warm, crimson liquid. He was suddenly all too aware of the fact that he was being watched by two others.

It made its move then and he barely had time to maneuver a perfect back flip to move out of the way. His body straightened back afterwards, balancing both feet firm on the ground in a stance. The B.O.W. copied his stance almost immediately.

'This thing is copying my every move...'

The B.O.W. attacked again and Steve was quick to execute another back flip only for this time to have his foot grabbed in its grasp preventing him from doing so. His eyes widened a fraction as he was flung backwards yet again and found himself being slammed into the metal wall. A stinging sensation run up his body and he barely had time to throw a fist into the creature's face as it approached him. Afterwards, Steve jumped to his feet, putting a distance between them as the two circled in some dance between prey and predator.

When Steve executed another quick, forceful punch with his right fist he was caught and found his arm being twisted around easily in its grasp. Before he could even react, his arm was twisted quickly, the loud sounds of a bone cracking echoing the otherwise silent room. Seconds later, Steve's loud cry of pain followed as he was discarded against the wall, thrown backwards like an animal. He couldn't move his right arm, feeling the pain and numbness run through it, a dull throb taking place.

Seeing as Steve was right handed, without his right arm working he could no longer throw punches.

'It knew that, that's why it broke my _right_ arm.'

The B.O.W. charged at him and Steve managed to roll out of the way to safety. He staggered to his feet, awkwardly cradling his limp right arm. It was useless now. Realizing that if he wanted to get out of this alive, he'd have to change his strategy, Steve quickly formulated a plan in his head. It wasn't his style, in all honestly, to plan. He acted and then asked questions later but in this situation it was a no-win. With that in mind, he charged in, running as his feet moved at speed. The experiment charged in at him too, the two running at each other dead-on. Swiftly, Steve executed a last moment flip, jumping over the B.O.W. and landing on its back as he stomped his feet on its back making it slam into the ground beneath them.

When Steve landed back on his feet, he proceeded to slam the bottom of his right steel-toed boot into the back of the B.O.W.'s head, over and over again. His foot began to burn with the overexertion and yet he continued until flecks of blood splashed onto his boot and pooled beneath as well. He huffed, panting as he tried to catch his breath. Dimly, he realized his movements had been desperate, like an animal trapped in a corner, thus why in the end they had become unpredictable. When one was desperate, they acted on pure adrenaline.

His crimson eyes stared down at the smashed in head of the now dead experiment, feeling slight bile rise up his throat before he swallowed it down painfully. He could feel his heart pounding heavily in his chest, racing as his chest rose up and down noticeably. His upper thighs ached and burned and the numbness in his right arm was tenfold now. If he hadn't known any better, he'd think he no longer had a right arm. The bone of his elbow was so twisted in place.

The sounds of the metal lab door swishing open caught the red-haired male's attention. Langdon eyed the failed experiment and then Steve with something like open appraisal.

"Nice work," he said, nodding his head in approval.

Steve swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with the action. He didn't say anything, just stared blankly and silently in the cool space of the room. When Langdon ushered him to follow, Steve did so without any complaint.

* * *

Steve didn't like feeling desperate like a trapped rat, nor did he like feeling weak. It was more than just a matter of pride (although that was part of it as well). He knew all too well the feeling of having your pride trampled on. It was an experience he didn't want to have to relive.

Langdon had told him that he was done for the done, dismissing him immediately. He was offered a ride home but turned it down scoffing. His pride wouldn't allow them to see him at his lowest even more than they already had. The walk back, however, was long as it was grueling. His whole body ached with exhaustion and he forced himself to ignore the persistent pain that swept across his body.

Somehow, he made it back to the base he called "home." Almost immediately, he heard Sherry and Claire call his name and hurry over to him. His knees bucked under him then and he fell against the wall, panting heavily all the while he held his broken arm.

The hands on him were foreign and yet felt so familiar. Claire was mumbling soft words that he couldn't make sense out of due to his pain blurred mind. They sounded comforting enough. His vision blurred even more, making him unable to clearly make out his surroundings anymore. And with a small shudder, he fell into the dark abyss.

* * *

Claire had worried all day about Steve's departure. She had paced back and forth all the while Sherry sat quietly in her designated spot on the couch reading. The blonde looked unfazed upon first glance, but Claire spotted the way she ever so anxiously darted her light colored eyes over to the door every now and then, and the way she would bite her fingernails absently.

It was long past nightfall when Steve finally stumbled back into the base badly wounded. Claire's feet had carried her over to his side quickly. He looked so battered and even worse Sherry appeared calm as if she expected as such. It didn't ease Claire's troubled mind.

Somehow the two had managed to carry Steve over to his bedroom and placed him on his bed. It wasn't easily but they accomplished it nonetheless. Claire had insisted on rushing to get medicine or something more after they had attended Steve's wounds. Sherry had persuaded her that there was nothing more they could do and to just let Steve's body heal himself on his own. Afterwards, the blonde had given Steve a pausing stare, concern flashing in her eyes before leaving Claire at his bedside. The auburn-haired woman refused to leave his side at that moment.

As Claire sat by Steve's bedside she allowed her blue eyed gaze to go over his form. He was lying on the bed without any movement albeit the slow moving of his chest going upwards and downwards. She moved her gaze from his wrapped up right arm up to his face where he had a busted lip to show for his last 'assistance' for the Organization. It looked bad enough where he would need stitches.

'No doctor could ever see him though, not with...his _condition_.' She hesitated over what to call his virus infection.

Steve shifted then, groaning slightly in pain as his eyelids slowly opened. The small lamp lit up the otherwise dim room. When he attempted to sit up quickly, he felt the strong jolt of pain, like stabbing daggers in his side, run up his body. He hissed in pain and held a hand to his bandaged up arm.

"Don't move it. It was pretty bad when you first got here but it appears to be healing slowly on its own." Claire placed her hand on his good arm, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin and hers, mixing together to create friction.

He looked at her, really _looked_ at her, before giving a low sigh and leaning his head back on the pillows behind his head, closing his eyes.

"Do you want anything to drink?" She asked worriedly, glancing at his face.

Steve shook his head, refusing to open his eyes just yet. Her voice sounded surprisingly soft and comforting and oh-so familiar in his head. He had that feeling of recognition from the very get-go actually. Something about her voice, and face had called out to him from deep down when he had thought every feeling and thought from his past life was dead. He wasn't used to people fussing over him either. The feeling was foreign.

"How long have I been out?" He croaked, clearing his throat afterwards when he realized how dry his throat felt and, even worse, how terrible his voice sounded. Suddenly, he found himself wishing he had said yes to her previous question. A nice, cold glass of water would do wonders right at the moment.

"About two hours," she answered and as if reading his mind, handed him a bottle of water. He took it and drunk it all greedily in one, long gulp.

Once he had finished, he realized Claire was still looking at him concernedly, biting her lower lip in a way that couldn't help but draw his attention. He mentally rolled his eyes, thinking that she was making a big deal out of nothing. He was still alive and breathing after all.

"What?" His brow furrowed a bit.

"Is it always like this?" She asked softly.

"Like?"

"All the wounds and bruises. Is it always like this when you get back?"

Steve grimaced somewhat as his fingers lingered on his healing arm. In all honesty, he had come back in pretty _decent_ shape considering his previous times. Sherry knew the extent of his past experiences. She had seen him at his worst, even bleeding on the floor only able to gasp in pain and wait for the virus to kick in and heal his wounds slowly but surely.

"Sometimes, it's not all bad," he answered back vaguely.

He didn't like the look she was giving him at the moment. Her deep, dark blue eyes were sad and sympathetic, and he just didn't like it at _all_. He felt something tug inside him, feeling his chest constrict tightly and insides squirm uncomfortably. Her mere presence brought about all these weird feelings in him. And from what it appeared, she seemed to care about him a little more past friendship, if their kisses said anything.

'And the same could be very well said about _you_.'

The redhead ignored the sarcastic voice in his head. He closed his eyes instead, seeing blackness past his closed eyelids. "I'm tired," he said curtly then, willing the sore, bruised muscles in his body to relax.

Steve couldn't see Claire's expression, but he imagined she was taken off guard a bit by his bluntness. She didn't say anything for a brief moment but then he felt her hand linger hesitantly, poised above his head before she very softly brushed his bangs away. He felt the soft, caressing touch faintly against his forehead, warmth spreading through the contact and a spark of something else. But then the touch was gone just as quickly as he felt it, like the wind.

"I'll let you get some rest then," she mumbled, shifting and appearing to stand to her feet.

When he felt her back to him as she approached the door, Steve finally opened his eyes, staring at her back. She halted in her walk then, stopping short of the closed door. Thinking that she realized he was staring at her, the redhead prompted to glare at the ceiling. Claire turned and gave him a brief look, a light smile coming across her light colored pink lips.

"Sleep well," she said as if an afterthought, before turning and heading out the door. Steve glanced over at the door as he heard it close behind her, clicking in place. He was left in silence, hearing only the quiet rumble of the air conditioner running in the background.

The redhead rolled onto his side, ignoring the throbbing pain that rolled through his body. He hissed in pain, holding a hand to his side. The burning pain was still there as prevalent and persistent as ever. He cursed under his breath, wishing pain on the scientists of the Organization for making him do everything they wanted him to do like a puppet. But he was still alive as were Sherry and Claire; that, for the moment, was all that mattered. Anything else could wait.

'Alive but battered,' he snorted.

He felt a jolt of something run through his veins then. His fingers slipped up, running across his lips. Where they had previously been busted and cracked by the brute punch of the B.O.W., he was mildly surprised to find it already healed and soothed. He licked his lips then, finding the action not as unbearable as it had been hours before.

Steve held a hand to his right arm, finding that the pain was dimming now – numbing. In all honesty, he felt it was pretty pointless, despite the nice gesture, of them wrapping up his arm when it would heal later anyways. With a heavy sigh, the male laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling in wait. He was tired; he hadn't lied about that, but he couldn't find the energy to sleep either. What was the point to sleeping anyways? Or even eating? They were all human things and yet Steve still did both of these despite the loss of his humanity. After all, humans didn't heal themselves in a span of hours, much less major injuries. They didn't have his inhuman strength either; with a mere, well-aimed and force-directed punch, he could bash in another person's face in.

'It's times like this I wonder if I'm just like those '_things'_ and not a man at all.' He thought to himself absently.

Was he actually any different from the very creatures the Organization created? A cool, harsh voice whispered in his head that he was just the very same as them; the voice of pessimism - of doubt.

After a few minutes of staring – _glaring _at the wall, Steve found himself drifting into sleep, for once welcoming it with open, tired arms.

* * *

**Ending note:** Now click that not-so pretty review button and make this authoress happy. x3 Thanks!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Are people still keeping up with this story? Yes? No? If you are, well then, here's a much delayed chapter. –is shot.;

**Important tidbit: **I have a new poll up on my profile that you can vote on for a future possible work/pairing. Please do go vote; I'll love you forever if you do.~

* * *

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Eight: (Anesthesia) Pulling Teeth

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"_It's kind of like pulling out a tooth. It'll be painful either way."_

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.

_He felt it. It was a feeling that came across his skin and spread like an inferno rapidly. A hiss escaped his lips as he cringed and tried to get away from the pain. The chuckle that he heard then was rough and low and above all _cruel. _He felt something digging into his skin, breaking it, and trailing downwards slowly, painfully. His eyelids fluttered in pain, cringing all the more as he felt the cool metal slicing through masterfully so._

_His sensory system felt numbed. He could barely move his body. When he tried to open his eyes, he found himself blinded by the bright lights, cringing as he quickly shut them again in discomfort. Why was it so goddamn bright?_

_There was some soft chatter in the background. They appear to sound like all males. _

"_His healing ability is particularly slow at the moment. I presume that it's because the virus is still adjusting in the host," a male voice said._

'_What the fuck?'_

_Steve winced again when he felt the metal of the scalpel drag downwards again on his arm, digging and breaking through skin. He almost wished they did it fast instead of as slowly as they were. It would have been less painful; he could deal with fast, quick pain. His chest heaved heavily with the pain, his heartbeats pitter-pattering. There was a strong scent of iron in the air and he was certain it was his blood making the scent._

_He tried to move but found himself unable to. It was as if he couldn't control nor move his body._

_His arm felt sticky and wet as blood gushed out from his open, deep cuts. They continued despite it all. At one point, Steve was sure they hit a nerve in his arm and he yelped out in pain, sweat forming on his forehead. His hands clenched into tight fists, nails digging into the palm of his hand so hard that he was sure they drew blood. _

"_It looks like you've hit a nerve," another male voice observed, his voice cool with almost hints of an English accent._

"_Be more careful," another warned._

_Steve could feel his body twitching involuntarily from the pain and blood loss. Were they going to kill him? If so, why hadn't they just already done it? _

_His eyelids fluttered open, slowly, and his vision was blurred and hazed. All he could make out was the faint image of someone wearing dark sunglasses before his vision blackened from the pain._

* * *

When Steve awoke, he felt slightly numb for the first few minutes. He sat up slowly, groaning a bit as he held a hand to his head. It throbbed, making his head feel heavy with pain. After a bit, the feeling dimmed and Steve flexed out his wrist and arm, testing it. He felt much better than he had yesterday that was for sure. He leaned back on his bed, closing his eyes and stretching out his arms over his head lazily.

Seconds later, there was a knock on his door and he sat up and grumbled a not-so pleasant, "What?" He was hardly a morning person—quite the contrary, he hated mornings.

The door slid open and Sherry stood at the other end of it, a light brow raised. He grumbled some more under his breath as she walked in his room, closing the door behind her. The action itself was a bit odd seeing as they normally didn't close doors when they talked but then he reminded himself that it wasn't just _them_ alone anymore.

Sherry was shuffling her feet, running a hand across her exposed neck as she fidgeted. For Steve, who never fidgeted and always got to the point, it irritated him. "Sherry, get to it, already," he said, running a few fingers through his hair, ruffling it around.

The blonde pursed her lips before moving to stand in front of him. Steve blinked in response, and she proceeded to grab something out of her pocket and was clasping it in place around his neck. He didn't move as she worked on it, her expression focused and looking down at the necklace. When she was done, she smiled at her handy work. He looked down then and saw that it appeared to be a silver chain necklace with a small, solid black vial attached to it.

"What's this?" He asked, fingering the smooth texture of the bottle at the end. It didn't appear to be made of glass but plastic.

Sherry shrugged. "A gift, you can say. Promise me you won't take it off or try to look inside yet?"

This caught his attention. "What's inside it?"

"It's a secret," she said, placing a finger up to her lips.

Steve rolled his eyes, dropping his hand from the necklace to rest it on the bed. It was a strange exchange and yet not so strange considering everything else. He was far too tired at the moment to pester or push the subject so instead he allowed the unusual request to slide. In all honesty, he couldn't even remember the last time he got a gift from someone, let alone a girl.

Sherry mumbled a quiet goodbye, going away with a slight skip that made one of his brows raise. She was…awfully chipper this morning. Women were weird like that, Steve concluded.

The male stood up and stretched out his arms, wincing slightly when the felt the soreness in muscles. There was dried blood on his clothing, and he felt sticky with both it and sweat. He grimaced then.

Hopefully a shower helped.

* * *

Claire dried off the rest of her hair with the towel. Sherry was in the kitchen, and Claire could hear the clatter of cabinets being opened. She blinked when Sherry returned to the living room, passing Claire a bowl with what appeared to be Fettuccini Alfredo. The auburn-haired woman thanked her, taking the bowl with fork and tasting it. It was very creamy and delicious.

"Did you make it yourself? It's amazing," she said with a smile.

Sherry actually blushed with the attention, shuffling in her chair. "Yeah, well, I ended up learning how to cook once I realized how terrible Steve's cooking is."

Claire laughed softly before twirling her fork around in the noodles and taking another bite. It was peaceful moments like this that made it so easy to forget the situation at hand. There was no simplicity in it. Claire chewed thoughtfully, getting lost in her thoughts until she felt Sherry staring. The older woman blinked, one of her brows rising. "What?"

Sherry merely smiled. "I've just never seen you with your hair actually done," was her blunt reply.

Claire tucked some slightly wet strands of her reddish-brown hair behind her ear. It was true she hardly wore her hair down; in fact, the only time it was ever down was when she showered or went to bed, if even.

Realizing then that Sherry was looking at her expectantly, Claire shrugged. "You and most people." She flashed Sherry a grin and felt warmth in her chest when Sherry returned the gesture with a soft, smile of her own.

There was the sound of a door shutting and Claire looked up to see Steve entering the room. His clothes were free of blood stains now, wearing now what was probably an identical set of uniform that he had stored.

'So much black,' she mused to herself.

Despite it all, she couldn't really see him in any other color. He had red hair and equally red eyes for _crying out loud; a_ny other color would more than likely look ridiculous. She didn't want to go into the yellow, blue and camouflage she had last seen him in all those years ago back at Rockfort because _that_ brought a mental image that made her want to snicker. Red and yellow really did not _mix_.

"Steve, would you like some Fettuccini Alfredo?" Sherry looked up from her book, her clear blue eyes staring at his form.

"I'll pass," he said, running a few fingers through his vibrant red hair, droplets flickering with the action.

"Your loss," the blonde mumbled, going back to her book just as easily.

Claire paused in her eating. Steve had spared her a glance, she noticed, but he wasn't going out of his way to look at her any further. This observation both irritated and hurt her. She thought they had made progress past the 'I hate you/I shall ignore you' stage.

"How are you feeling?" Claire asked, looking down at her bowl, deciding to continue eating. She spun the fork around some more noodles, raising the silverware to her mouth to take in the food. When she looked back to Steve, she saw that he was looking at her finally; he looked to his side just as quickly though.

"Fine," came his short reply.

Claire gave something of a mix between a sigh and a groan. Maybe, she'd have to be aggressive with him again, make him respond to her. Almost immediately, memories of their _shared_ kisses came to mind, and she felt herself slightly color with the memory. While Claire was straightforward and initiative, she normally didn't push comfort levels; but she had pushed Steve's comfort level hadn't she? He had set the boundary lines between them and she had walked over them, pushing, and breaking, and opening his eyes to something he probably didn't want to see…yet, if even. In all honesty though, she didn't regret it one bit. If she were to be completely honest with herself, even, she would admit to wanting to try it _again_. Unfortunately, it appeared with Steve, as easily as his guard crumbled in that brief, intense moment, it had later returned just as strong and resilient as ever. He was, for a lack of a better word, impossible.

"Any word from Langdon or Wong?" His voice sounded bitter and sharp then.

Sherry paused from her reading realizing he was addressing the question to her. She thumbed the page absently then. "No, nothing yet; you should relax for now. You dealt with quite a beating yesterday."

Steve scoffed, shaking his head slightly, his red strands of hair swaying with the motion like dancing flames. "Can't drop my guard," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

Because his response linked back to Claire's previous thoughts, she couldn't help but slightly frown with his words.

Looking a tad frustrated then, Steve uncrossed his arms and more or less strolled past the two females, heading towards the door. Claire watched in surprise at his sudden departure while Sherry didn't even look up from her book; instead the blonde's eyes followed the words without missing a beat even.

Claire sighed and leaned back in the couch, closing her eyes briefly. She suddenly felt so tired and drained. How long had it been since her 'stay' at the base? It was probably a week or so. The days appeared to pass by easily, leaving her unable to catch up with the passed time. At this point, she was sure Chris was freaking out by now and making several million calls to send out a search group for her, including himself in that said search group. She didn't like worrying him but it wasn't as if she had the opportunity to call or warn him either. Besides, if she tried, she was sure Steve, and, maybe, Sherry would see it as betrayal and any trust developed between the two and her would be all but shattered. It wasn't something she wanted to risk.

Once Steve remembered everything would he feel abandoned? Betrayed even? Claire wasn't too sure. It was a thought that plagued the back of her mind, making her worrisome. He certainly did seem averse to remembering, not that she blamed him.

"It's kind of like pulling out a tooth. It'll be painful either way," Sherry said suddenly, drawing Claire from her internal monologue.

The auburn-haired woman blinked in confusion. "What?"

"It's a quote from my book." The blonde looked down at the said book, briefly. "Remembering memories—painful ones—are like pulling out wisdom teeth. It isn't a pleasant experience but necessary. You hate to have to do it but it's hard to move forward in life without doing so."

Claire tilted her head to the side, a bit in awe and surprise. Sherry had always been quite mature for her age, even when they had first met when she had been only twelve, but it appeared she had gotten insightful in the years.

'He can't move on with his life unless he remembers his past.' Claire thought to herself, wrapping her arms around herself. She, herself, couldn't imagine having no memories of the past—like being a blank slate. It probably felt terribly lonely.

'But…when he does remember, I'll be here for him.'

* * *

Steve's arms were sore. After a round of punching, kicking, and flip-after-flip, in his frenzy of training, he finally drained himself entirely. It always served as a good distraction, however. His mind felt cleared for one.

When he arrived back at the base, he stopped as he made his way into the living room. Claire was sound asleep on the couch, her body spread out in a laying position. He walked over to her quietly without even thinking about it. Her eyelashes fluttered the slightest in her sleep, her pink lips slightly parted, and her chest slowly and rhythmically rising and lowering with every breath. Her hair was still down, he noticed absently, and the slightly long, straight reddish-brown strands of hair fanned around her form.

He wouldn't admit it before but she was quite beautiful.

Mentally rolling his eyes, the red-head leaned down to pick up Claire and carry her off to her room. It would be a terrible idea to leave her out in the living room at night considering how cold it got in the room in the middle of the night. Steve wasn't that much of an ass either.

She was fairly easy for him to carry and only stirred a little in his arms. Steve made his way slowly to her room, kicking aside the door and stepping in. Afterwards, he settled her into her bed, covering her up for measure and was about to turn away just as silently when he felt a strong tug on his shirt that prevented him. He stopped immediately, cursing a bit in his mind, before turning to find that Claire had awoken. She was sitting up on her elbows, staring up at him with sleepy half-lidded eyes. He wondered then how long she had been sleeping out there in the couch. Had she been waiting up for him?

He beat her to talking. "Idiot, why were you sleeping out there?"

"I was worried about you," she answered, honestly, giving a somewhat lazy shrug and a hint of a smile across her lips.

Steve scoffed a bit but felt warmth creep up his neck. He had been right after all. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have, I was fine."

"Still trying to be macho, I see," she said with hints of teasing in her soft, sleepy sounding voice. It was almost a quiet mumble now.

"Shut up." He didn't say this in anger or pure irritation.

Claire gave another sleep smile, her eyelashes fluttering the slightest in her sleepy state. If he hadn't known better, he would have mistaken it for her flirting with him. She gave a small yawn then.

"Mm, thank you for carrying me to bed," she mumbled.

"Yeah, sure." Steve slipped his hands in his pockets, feeling a bit awkward all of a sudden. It was like being caught stealing a kiss from a sleeping person or something.

The smile was still on her face and, _damn it_, if he didn't get the hell out of there now he'd do something impulsive—like kiss her.

"You should get some sleep." This was also his silent way of saying he wanted to get away. After all, it wasn't like Steve needed to sleep much himself.

"You're right."

She sounded almost disappointed to Steve. Her grasp on his shirt dropped then as she leaned back and snuggled into the covers of the bed. Steve hesitated then. Her eyes were closed but he doubted she was asleep just yet. He reached out, brushing some of her long, soft hair back. She opened her eyes in response, blue eyes looking up at him in surprise at the tender action. He felt his ears slightly burn and he turned away from her questioning eyes.

"Night," he mumbled, turning away and making his way out of the room. He could feel her eyes on his back, watching his retreating form.

"Good night, Steve," she whispered back, watching him leave without another word. When he was gone, she touched the hair that he had brushed back, still surprised by the action itself. It was surprising enough he had cared enough to carry her to bed but adding onto what he just did a few seconds ago, it was safe to say, she was definitely taken off guard.

Claire smiled then and closed her eyes, giving a small sigh. Sleep came easy to her that night; her heart no longer feeling so heavy. Had she known that tomorrow, things would change and Steve would distance himself in retaliation, she probably would have said more that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Originally Steve's past and 'awakening' in the base for the first time was going to be a separate arc from _Until I__t __Sleeps_, but, I decided to stick them together. I think it works out better this way. So, yes, these next few parts (because Steve's past is quite _long_) are flashbacks, just for clarification. The sentence in italics in the centered beginning is from Steve's POV and will be for the next few parts.

Heh, reckless seventeen-year-old-thinking-but-really-in-early-twenties Steve is fun to write.

* * *

**Until It Sleeps**

Chapter Nine: The Memory Remains Part 1

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"_Apathy is clichéd."_

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_4 years ago…_

He felt it - that cold, numbing feeling that he can feel all the way down to his toes. It was a piercing feeling. He didn't understand it and he felt like he didn't want to. It was empty, it was dark, and it was quiet but he didn't mind especially the silence. Despite people saying silence is nerve wracking, it comforted him. He was used to the quiet. He was used to being alone. Numerous thoughts floated in his mind although he couldn't sort them to make any sense out of them. They were only fragments of a past life he couldn't seem to remember. Through the fuzziness in his mind he heard a voice that resonated so clearly in his mind.

"_We'll get through this together."_

It was a feminine voice that held such strength and kindness. _Warmth_. It gave him almost comfort and serenity upon hearing the voice echoing in his mind. It stirred a deep feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite label. He normally didn't feel anything but emptiness but when he hears her voice then—

"_Hang on…my—my brother has come to save us..."_

In his state of deliriousness, he smiled to himself a wry almost bitter smile.

'You can't save what's already dead.'

It was then when his eyes fluttered open. He felt the coldness radiate from the room he was in. It was bone chilling but his body temperature quickly adjusted to the cold. He could feel dampness radiating from his body and he weakly pushed himself upwards looking around alarmed. Everything felt fuzzy, and his head throbbed badly. The worst of it was his body – he felt like he didn't know his own body.

"Where…am I..?" He spluttered out confusedly. Up ahead, he spotted what appeared a man in a white lab coat observing him carefully. When the man didn't answer his question, he grew angry.

"I said _where_ the fuck am I?" He growled out angrily, frustrated and more than anything lost.

'What's even my name?'

He couldn't remember anything. His mind was completely empty of any memory. Why couldn't he remember anything?

The man, a scientist he believed, was scribbling still on his notepad and calling in someone. He could feel the patience leave his body (as if he had much to begin with) and out of his fit of anger he grabbed the table in front of him and threw it across the room with strength he didn't know he possessed. The table slammed against the wall with such strength and broke instantly, wood and glass crashing and clattering on the floor. He clenched his fists tight and suddenly, multiple men in lab coats were trying to hold him down onto the lab table. He fought, pushing them swiftly and easily. Their bodies flew back against the floor.

The one scientist who refused to answer him was on the ground as well and he placed his foot, the black clean boot pressed against the man's windpipe. The man gasped in horror and spluttered nonsense he didn't care to even hear or process. His aim was to kill. The scary thing was he _wanted_ to kill. It felt natural. It was repelling and yet he welcomed the feeling and didn't reject it – entirely. In his stupor, he didn't notice another man approach him until he felt the needle pricking him in his arm. He turned around quickly, swinging his arm back with the intent of knocking the man out, but his punch was easily stopped due to the sudden dizziness that overcame him. Something ran in his veins; he could feel whatever liquid was injected in his arm numbing his senses and body.

"I expected more out of you Steven," the man's voice muttered in a chiding voice.

Steve hated that voice. It was cold, collected, calculating and for some reason calming as well. His vision was flickering away fast, and he could feel the unconsciousness creeping up on him. He tried to make out the man in front of him, but all he made out was the flicker off blond hair and eerie light crimson eyes with black slants before the darkness overwhelmed him.

Hours later, Steve awoke to find himself strapped down to the lab table. They used metal straps to keep him in place; they didn't underestimate his strength this time around. He shifted his body and pulled his hands upwards trying to get free but the holds didn't budge. Frustration came upon him.

"Goddamit," he grumbled under his breath.

He felt like he was a human guinea pig, like some type of lab rat. The thought of being such gave him a bad aftertaste feeling in his mouth. He suddenly felt spasms in his muscles. They were sharp and dramatic, and it felt like someone was slicing a knife deep into his skin, agonizingly, slowly dragging the blade across. He gave a loud gasp and clenched his fists so tightly that he drew blood. His nails had scrapped hard into the palm of his skin and broke the thick layer of skin drawing blood. The strong, metallic scent of blood filled the air and Steve could smell the blood so easily. It made him feel sick but there was also another feeling he couldn't quite pinpoint – was it want? That didn't make any sense.

There was the sound of a door opening and a man with blond hair gelled back and dark shades covering his eyes entered the room. Steve immediately recognized him as the man that had stabbed him with the needle. He glowered at the man as he walked up to him, his expression calm and collected. Steve couldn't see his eyes through the dark shades but he had the feeling the man noted the blood dripping down his clenched fists and the thin line of his lips proved his displeasure at the blood.

"I presume you're more calm now Steven," the man said calmly, his voice void of any emotion. It irked Steve.

"Yeah..," he replied back through gritted teeth. He paused then realizing it was the second time he had been called that name. Was it his name? "Is that my name?" He inquired quizzically.

"You don't remember." It was more of a statement than a question but he continued. "And yes, Steven Burnside – or Steve as I do recall that's what others called you." There was a hint of mockery in his voice when he said 'others' and it made Steve wonder whom he was referring to.

'So…my name is Steve Burnside?'

It felt strange not to remember. It gave off an empty and bitter feeling. His mind was completely blank of any memories. He felt like a robot or something along those lines. He wished he could remember but a part of him deep down told him he probably didn't want to. There was a deep pounding in his head – it was slow, agonizingly so.

Steve wanted to be extremely angry – to throw, destroy and kill. The strange thing was that he didn't have the energy to do so. His body felt terribly drained, sapped, of all vigor that should be pulsing through his veins. There was a cold, numbing feeling running through his veins instead. Whatever they injected in him served its point. He remained calm although his irritation was another thing.

"What the hell am I doing here?" He scoffed. This blond man was really getting on his last nerve. Everything about this man screamed deadly, not that he was scared. ('I'm not a wimp or anything.' He rolled his eyes).

"It doesn't matter," Wesker replied back coolly. "You're here and will remain here.

The red haired male narrowed his eyes. "Let me go." He growled out, tugging once again in a vain attempt to get loose. He was really starting to get pissed off.

"You are to remain restrained until I believe you won't destroy everything like an impudent child."

Steve gave a nasty glower. "When I'm loose, you're the first one that I'll kill."

Wesker seemed unfazed by Steve's threat; if anything he seemed almost amused by the petty threat. He moved towards Steve slowly, and the sneer that came across his lips was lethal.

"That's disputable Steven seeing as you'll be dead before you even made a first move."

Steve was about to argue when he felt a stabbing in his lower arm and his blood boiled. There was a strong burning sensation that flowed through his veins and body. He gritted his teeth together, struggling and thrashing his body around in pain. It felt like his body was inflamed. His skin felt raw. He wasn't sure how hard he struggled but due to the sudden stench of heavy iron in the air he guessed enough to make himself bleed.

'Fuck…' Was his last thought before he lost consciousness once again.

* * *

Steve awoke then and he groaned in pain. His wrists felt raw and bruised from his struggling. The coolness of metal against the skin did nothing to assuage it. Maybe he was a masochist because he didn't mind the pain too much. He flexed his wrists around as well as his ankles, trying to get adjusted to his body. Just because he didn't remember anything didn't mean that he didn't feel something off with himself – and not just because of the memory loss.

'Fucking prick.' He thought referring to Wesker, of course. The man didn't even offer him any answers to the burning questions that were running through his head. Why exactly was he here? What had happened to him? Why couldn't he remember? Why did he feel funny? Etcera, etcera.

He shifted then and focused his energy in his body. He still wasn't used to the alien body but he could feel the flow of strength flowing through it – hidden and overpowering. The common sense part of him told him that it wasn't possible for a human being to feel such power but the other part just didn't care to ponder over sense; it overruled in the end. Steve concentrated then on the flexing of his fingers and wrists, along with the wiggling of his toes. It was then he noticed his attire was all black: a tight fitting wife-beater, and jeans. It reminded him of how the blond haired man wore all black as well. He sneered at the thought.

'The guy is wannabe gothic, great.'

His blood boiled with strength he didn't know he possessed and with a sharp push upwards he broke the metal strapping him down. He sat up quickly and slipped off the lab table. When he landed on his feet, the cool metal of the ground radiated up from his feet through his body. Steve flexed his fingers, arms, and legs. They felt sore from inactivity. He wondered briefly how long he had been out before awaking to find himself in this strange place. The red haired male shrugged the thought away – it didn't really matter – and glanced around. Everything was so plain in here. The walls were gray and the floors a cold metal. It was all completely dull.

He flicked his wrists, and despite the raw skin, it didn't ache as much anymore. When his eyes darted down at the skin, it was then he noticed that the skin was healing on it own apparently - very quickly at that.

'Not possible for a human being,' the words echoed in his head.

He ignored the thoughts and began to walk towards the door. The door suddenly swished open and he found himself face to face with one of the scientists. His eyes widened in mild horror and disbelief upon seeing Steve loose. Steve reacted quickly, impulsively, by swinging his arm back and with an almost imploding strength smashed his fist into the man's cheek. The crunching sound echoed in his head and bursts of red nearly blurred his vision. He dropped his hand where now blood dripped down but it wasn't his blood. No, it was the blood of the scientist he had just now murdered.

The scientist lay on the ground with his cheek now smashed in, his jaw broken along with his nose, and a stream of blood dripped grotesquely down his face. His eyes were perpetually wide in horror and lips wide open in painful agony. The man hadn't known what hit him. Literally.

Steve gave a dull look at his hand and the lifeless body. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest vigorously and the adrenaline pulsing in his veins. He licked his dry lips. It felt _good_. He doubted he had ever killed so coldblooded like this but the feelings now invoked in him were far from unpleasant and uninviting. The spilled blood even smelled oddly pleasant, delicious even. The thought sickened him slightly then and he walked past the body and out the door.

His fingers went up and tugged at the black, metal banded choker around his neck. It made him feel suffocated even though it wasn't tight enough to actually cut the circulation in his body. When he tried yanking at it with some force he felt searing pain run through his body. The choker refused to budge or loosen, and it was then that Steve noticed it was actually attached to the skin. He grimaced and realized whoever put it on him did it with the intent of him not removing it – unlike the metal straps he dealt with earlier. Maybe those had been a test? His eyes narrowed at the thought.

He walked past the empty hall, his footsteps echoing, and went through another door. It appeared like the living room or something along those lines. There was a figure sitting on the couch placed in the middle. The strong scent of humanity filled his nose along with something else – aside from the smell of the blood running in veins, there was the humanly scent of cleansing soap and flowers.

'A girl,' he mused.

She sat with a book in her hands reading silently. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration and her pouty, pink lips pursed. It was obvious that she was entirely entranced by the book and didn't notice Steve's arrival. He could still feel the blood pumping in his veins from his previous killing.

Steve stepped further into the room, and it was then the girl's attention flew up from her book. Her big, crystal blue almond shaped eyes stared back at him with something along the lines of apathy. Was everyone here apathetic? It was starting to piss him off. He felt his hands clench into fists.

"You're awake," she mused out loud, her voice sounding like silver bells. It was childlike yet mature, high-pitched yet soft – complete opposites meeting.

"Where am I?" He questioned gruffly, arms crossing then across his chest.

The girl's eyes dropped to her book before replying nonchalantly, "You're in a base in Venezuela."

Venezuela? Why the hell was he in _Venezuela_?

"What the hell?" He muttered under his breath. He didn't understand anything. His head throbbed, the blood in his veins pulsed, his body was tensed and he just wanted to get away from this place - away from everything.

The girl looked up at him then with a cock of her head. She was pretty. Short blonde hair cascaded slightly past her shoulders, her doe like eyes stared unfaltering on her perfectly shaped oval face with glowing peachy skin, and a petite, nicely figured body to match. She looked like a porcelain doll. Steve guessed she was in her early twenties. There was an air of maturity to her and something about the observant look in her eyes proved to him that she was hardly a stupid, stereotypical blonde.

"If I were you I'd just follow orders and not complain. Wesker isn't the patient type," she stated simply.

Steve blinked, a few times or so, before giving a sneer. "Oh really? I'm not afraid of whoever it is you're talking about."

"Wesker – the blond man dressed in all black. He's the 'big man' I guess you can say."

Blond, dressed all in black, well that narrowed down to only one. His eyes narrowed immediately. That bastard was the one that mocked him and knocked him out two times already. He had unfinished business with him.

For whatever reason, the girl noticed his intentions quickly and shortly said, "I wouldn't try anything if you don't want to be dead again. Just saying."

So apathetic it made him want to strangle her.

He backtracked on her words. "Dead again? What's that mean?"

She blinked, once, twice. "You were brought here dead and revived by the Organization."

Revived – like something out of a stupid movie.

"That's stupid and impossible," Steve hissed feeling anger pulse through his veins.

Did she think he was stupid enough to believe something like that?

'Give me a break!'

The blonde shook her head, the book was still opened in her hands and the quick glancing at it made Steve realized what she really wanted was to return to reading it. He didn't pretend to care that he was taking up her precious time with his bickering because, well, he _didn't_ care. It was probably immature and childish of him but it wasn't like anyone else was showing him some consideration. He still had a gazillion questions with zilch answers.

"Believe it or not it's the truth, Steve." She reluctantly added his name at the end of her statement.

There was some feistiness to her. For some reason, Steve found himself enjoying that characteristic of hers. It was oddly familiar. He decided to entertain her idea just for the moment.

"Okay, let's say I believe you. How could I be revived? Last time I checked it was impossible." There was a heavy tone of sarcasm in Steve's voice and he didn't make any attempt to hide it.

She rolled her eyes. "It's called the T-Veronica virus."

She probably would have said more but the sudden approaching footsteps stopped her in her tracks. The blond man, Wesker, he now knew him by appeared with his dark shades in place. Behind the dark shades, Steve could spot the man's crimson gaze darting from the blonde to him.

"Sherry, Steve," he greeted nonchalantly.

Steve noticed Sherry immediately straighten her body up, her body perfectly upward. "Wesker," she mumbled back with a small nod of her head, closing her book quietly.

The red-haired male scoffed glancing back at Sherry and then Wesker. He was trying to make sense of it. Why was a young girl in the hands of this man and other male scientists? She certainly didn't look related to anyone and she wasn't calling Wesker 'dad' either. It didn't make any sense unless the two were—

His stomach stirred slightly nauseated at the thought.

This older ('much, _much_ older') man was fucking a girl just past legal age by a couple of years. Gross.

He shrugged the thought away (or really quick assumption) and went back to glowering at Wesker. Right when he was getting answers he had to be disrupted. "What do you want from me, Wesker?"

Steve couldn't tell if Wesker was even glancing at him, his shades darkened making it impossible to see.

'Damn lightening…'

"That's none of your concern," Wesker replied coolly.

"It is my concern if it involves me, jackass!"

Wesker ignored Steve and instead turned his attention to Sherry. "Keep your distance from him." He turned his attention to Steve then. "And you don't go killing anyone else unless you'd prefer to be chained up again, this time without food or water for days."

"Fuck you!" Steve exclaimed just as Wesker turned around and swiftly, gracefully even, walked out of the room. He stood still glowering at the spot where Wesker had just recently been standing and taunting him with his words.

He heard the sound of soft, snickering and his light crimson eyes darted to Sherry. She had her hand hovering just above her lips. He glowered at her darkly, and she merely gave a small smirk in response that bordered haughty. He wanted to punch something – her even; instead, he turned away and stomped out of the room trying to find somewhere even remotely peaceful.

"Your room is to the far left!" Sherry called out, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

'Shut up!'

Make it two people on his list of top people he wanted to hurt.


End file.
